21st Century Super-Man
by DC Redux
Summary: Welcome to Metropolis. A city where the 1% run rampant in suits, shows, and social media. Super-powered alien Clark Kent/Kal-El has come to the big city to make a difference, setting up a non-profit organisation that helps the people and works against tyrants like Lex Luthor… and he's bringing his dumb friends from Smallville, Kansas with him. [AU] [Part of the DC Redux Universe]
1. tbt (Prologue)

_**This story is set in the DC Redux Universe, which is currently being crafted by four other brilliant writers. Check out our fanfic page to see what we've done with the rest and keep your eye out for crossovers. But for now…**_

* * *

 **21st December, 2014**

 **Rog's Hair-Place,** **•** **Suicide Slum, Metropolis**

This place wasn't always called Suicide Slum. It was once a prosperous and tightly-knit community of people from all walks of life. It was once booming with the types of people who would look out for you, and, in return, you would look out for them. It was the sort of place where you could leave your doors unlocked and let your children ride out along the streets on their bicycles with their friends until the early hours of night. Back in the day, one would kiss their wife goodbye in the morning, drive on over to work, earn their day's worth of pay, come back home and watch the sun set on the front porch of their house with the entire family, without a care in the world. It was simpler once. Calmer. Nicer.

They once called this place 'Metropolis's heaven-on-Earth'. They once said it was the American Dream personified, the beating heart of the New Deal. They used to call this place Southside.

During the 1930s and 40s, the town was a safe haven for immigrants and refugees escaping from the tyranny of Nazi Germany and other such oppressive regimes, a sign of hope for people who had seen the worst humanity had to offer. They found work. They found love. They found home. Solace. Peace. They believed that their worst days were behind them, that they could finally begin to live.

Eventually it all fell. It fell into poverty. Into violence. Military drafts took the workforce and spat it back out in a place that no longer wanted it. The streets grew more dangerous, big business feeding on the city like a parasite and spitting out its waste down in the south of town. "Suicide Slum" became its unofficial name during the AIDS scare of the 1980s. A number of needles that were given to a project in town trying to help heroin addicts were infected with the disease. The suicide rate skyrocketed in that year, an unknown graffiti artist then tagging over the "Welcome to Southside" sign which stood at the edge of town, coining the famous nickname.

Amongst all of the poverty and depression, a Barbershop called "Rog's Hair-Place" stood on Roarke Street. It had been around since the 40s, a business founded by a family of Polish immigrants. Handed down through generations, by 2014, it was in the hands of Roger Slevitch III. A plump, 60-something year old man with an unbreakable spirit, a strong moral resolve and a painfully obvious, fake head of brown hair. The Slevitch family was always known for their kindness, as they were always willing to help out the young boys and girls of the town by giving them jobs, which was a big help in making sure they stayed out of trouble, even if they were usually small ones. One of Roger's newest recruits was Cassie Andrews, "skinny little Cass", as he called her when she was younger.

She always had a smile that could make the coldest heart warm and she was largely regarded across town as someone who everyone knew would break free from the trap that was Suicide Slum. She was a fighter, through and through, and one with the brains to match her bravado.

It was a slow day in December. Cassie had just started her shift at ten o'clock in the morning. That hour went by as she waited for somebody to show up. Then eleven. Twelve. One. No-one. Roger was out ordering supplies. Jess was on maternity leave. Tommy was missing, maybe even dead. It was just her, the mirrors, the various combs, brushes and gels lying around and the giant pile of hair Jess forgot to clean up yesterday afternoon. As the hours passed without any customers, fed up, she was about to close up shop until a regular entered.

She had seen him before. Roger or Jess had always cut his long, shiny ginger hair. He never looked like he belonged in this place, his clothes were designer and he was completely fresh-faced. His watch was probably worth a few million dollars. He didn't speak much to the others on previous occasions but on that day he was very talkative. Cassie liked the company and he seemed like he hadn't really spoken to anyone in a while either. He made fun of her 1999 Nokia "brick", she made fun of his taste in fashion. Once she was done, he paid her for her service and was about to go on his way until he quickly turned around and asked, "Do you know who I am?"

"No." She replied. "No, I don't."

And then he left. A wink and a smile and he was gone.

* * *

 **#tbt**

 **A PROLOGUE.**

 **Starring** **•** **CKentDailyStar**

 **Typed up by Joey West**

 **A DC REDUX JOINT**

* * *

 **2016, A Thursday in January**

• **Smallville, Kansas**

Smallville, to the uninitiated, was your typical Midwestern town.

A place out-of-time, perpetually stuck in sepia-tone and rendered like it were out of an old Norman Rockwell painting. Every morning, one would wake up to the toll of the bell below the great big clock in the church at the centre of town, springing out of their bed and preparing for work at the crack of dawn. Children would ride their bicycles across the fields, doing their daily paper-rounds before heading off to school. In the east side, if one listened very carefully, as the sun rose, they would be able to hear the clamorous chirp of Martha Kent's award-winning prize roosters. And in the west, one would usually notice the humming of Mel Lane's tractor, the old man having become notorious amongst the community as the earliest bird in town, as well as the hardest worker.

However, amongst all of the hundreds of thousands of Middle-American tropes that Smallville fit into, the small town harboured a deep seeded secret. A secret that everybody who lived there knew. It wasn't anything particularly scandalous. It wasn't one of those cliched, big, bad, scary secrets that the small towns on the television had. There was no secret cult. There was no underground society. There was no haunted burial ground. There were no science fiction monsters, per se. There was only a boy. A boy who fell to Earth. A boy who came from the stars.

Everybody knew that there was something special about Clark Kent. Something different. Something just-slightly off. It wasn't the fact that he had jet-black hair and blue eyes whilst his parents had neither. It wasn't the fact that, despite having the body of an athlete at peak performance, he never, ever tried out for Smallville High's football team. It wasn't even the fact that he had a room in his basement dedicated entirely to Bruce Springsteen memorabilia. All of that seemed ordinary compared to the big bombshell that the entire town was carrying on its back.

Clark Kent was an alien. A real-life space-alien.

In February 1996, something happened that would change Smallville's claim to fame as the "corn capital of the world" to the "meteor capital of the world". A class B meteor shower, carrying pieces of the lost world, Siegeltown, all the way from the Swan System, or, as it was known in the _Rao System_ , its proper alien name, _Krypton_ , occurred. Amongst the hundreds of thousands of space-rocks that shot over into the flatlands of Kansas, there was a single starship. A starship carrying a baby boy and a white Labrador.

(That's right, Clark Kent had a space-dog.)

When said starship landed, it was discovered by a pair of passing motorists, Jonathan and Martha Kent, who were springing out of the trap they both grew up in to find their own calling in life. Their own destiny. Their own direction. They'd later joke to their adopted son about how they only had to drive about half-a-mile out of town to find it.

Everybody doubted them. Nobody believed that they could do it. That Jonathan and Martha with their leather jackets and rock-n-roll music, they'd never cope raising a child, let alone a child from outer space. Some even made bets about how long it would take before they threw in the towel.

But they never did.

Raising a child was not, is not and never will be a walk in the park. Alien or not. If you'd have asked either of the two, neither of them would ever have said that it was easy, because it wasn't. But they tried their hardest to raise a good son. And to train a good dog. And they managed to do both, at least, for the most part. Krypto did tend to go a little crazy every year during Smallville's signature thunderstorm season. Occasionally, he would also wander off in the middle of the night, chewing up power-lines and sacking sausage factories across the Midwest.

But back to the point.

Clark Kent was, deep down, at his core, a good man. And a good son. But, like any young man, there was a longing within his heart to find some purpose in life. It was no good staying on a farm and waiting to inherit his parents' land so he could watch over cornfields forever. He, like his parents, knew that he could do a lot better elsewhere, even if he didn't want to admit it. Eventually, he broke away from it all. He broke away from his family and he broke off from his friends.

With the crystal he was left with from his birth parents, he travelled up north and came back home with a mission that led him all away across the country into Metropolis. But there, in the big city, he found there was something missing. Something wrong. Not only with the city, where the divide between the rich and the destitute was clearer than ever, but also with himself.

He had to go home, or at least, next door to home.

Racing across the highways out of Metropolis, from the East Coast of the country into the Mainland, just under the speed of sound, Clark Kent, strange visitor from outer space, found his way home to the place that adopted him. Smallville, Kansas. Although, he did get lost a few times on the way there.

Knock. Knock.

Knock, knock, knock.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

Knock.

A young man with ruffled and messy black hair stood at the door of the Ross Family Home, leaving a snail trail of chipped and charred pavement behind him- which lead off to a freshly made crop circle drawn in a massive field of corn. He wore a red and brown plaid shirt, blue jeans and white converse sneakers. Mud and dirt covered his calves and cuffs, his right shoe exhaling a thin, white figure of of smoke and his face streaming with sweat. Quietly, he whispered, "Come on. Come on," under his breath.

The door opened. A friendly looking middle-aged woman stood in the doorway, her wrinkled and jolly face triggering happy memories of sleepovers, camping trips and school dances. "Hey, Clark." Mrs. Ross smiled, "How're things going in Metro- -"

"I _really_ gotta talk to Pete, Mrs. R. Sorry." He cut her off, rushing past her at almost literal lightning speed, a speeding train of air and wind hitting the old lady, knocking her off her feet. His face screwing up with embarrassment, Clark turned, catching her with his super-speed before she fell. "So sorry."

Within a millisecond the boy who fell to Earth had already sped up the stairs, sitting across from his lifelong best friend, catching him by surprise as he lifted his arms up in self defence. "AGGGHHH-"

"It's _me_ , dummy."

"-HHHHHHAAGGH!" He took a very, very deep breath. "Dude. You _can't_ do that. You'll give a guy a heart attack." Pete Ross rubbed his face. He had been Clark Kent's closest and best friend since before either of them could remember. He offered a cynical, grounded voice of reason to Clark, and Clark offered a sort of optimistic, though sometimes somewhat naive, support to his friend. Pete was a short, skinny, young, bespectacled African-American man with a massive, side-parted black afro which he hadn't touched in about five years. "What're you doing b- -"

"Shut up." Clark interrupted. "I got a story to tell. And I need you to do me a favour."

"Okay- -" Pete sighed, "What'd that be?"

"Could'ya get Lana over here?"

"Yeah no." He quickly snapped back, "I ain't gonna wander my way back into _that_ minefield again. Nuh-uh. No _way_."

"Please, Pete. Pleaaaase." Clark went down to his knees. "Literally _begging_ you right now, buddy."

"No. She told me to not even _talk_ about you when you decided to become this " _dark_ and _brooding_ vigil- -"

"Pete."

"- -ante" and to be honest, I'm _still_ not even sure if _I'm_ haaa-"

" _Pete_. I was wrong."

"- -ppy about that." Pete took a moment to process what Clark had just said, "Wait a minute. Incorruptible, infallible Clark Kent admits he was _wrong_?"

"Call her."

"Gladly." Pete whipped his iPhone out of his pocket. "Wouldn't miss _this_ for the world."

 **Later.**

"What the crap do you want?" Lana frowned as she sat on Pete's bed, Clark standing over the both of them. Lana Lang was, simply put, who Clark considered to be the peanut butter to his jelly, and he always figured that Smallville was the bread that kept them both together. She was always his rock for support but she also was never afraid to tell Clark when he was, quote-unquote, being 'a complete and utter jackass'. Kent zoned out for a minute, giving himself a second to admire her once again. It had been over a month since he had seen her or even spoken to her. Her beautiful, shimmering red hair. Her bright blue eyes, even when she was angry they captured him. Cupid's arrow stabbed into his chest, his eyes turning into a pair of pink hearts.

"Is he having a stroke?" Lana asked, annoyedly pointing at the dumb, loving expression on Clark's face. She turned to her side, Pete bashing his fingers against a touchscreen, not paying attention. She turned back to Clark, "Hey. Moron."

"Sorry." Clark regained focus. "Erm- I'm, uh- _I'm_ _sorry_. I was _wrong_. I was _too_ wrapped up in myself. I was an idiot for pushing the both of you away. Especially you, Lana."

"So we're playing favourites here, huh?" Pete said with a hint of sarcasm, his head bouncing back up. "Fine, apology not accepted."

"You. Are… such an idiot." Lana spoke to Clark, looking back down. "Like, honestly, I don't think I've ever met somebody as idiotic as you."

"Seconded." Pete remarked. "Sorry, buddy."

"I know." Clark sighed, "Look. I got a story to tell. I can explain everything. Why I'm back here, the lot of it."

"Is this a short story or a long, "I've got a story to tell" story?" Lana asked, Clark pulling an apologetic-looking face, "Ugh. Go on, then."

"Thank you."

* * *

 **A Week Ago.**

 **At...**

 **The Manheim Hotel,** **•** **New Troy, Metropolis**

Clark Kent stood in the centre of his company-paid-for hotel room in the five-star Manheim Hotel, his boss, Mr. George Taylor's, treat. The young(ish) editor of the Daily Star had always thought that it was important to make any one of his newly hired employees feel right at home at their place-of-work. He was adamant that Clark would stay in the best place money could buy until his new reporter was back on his own two feet and had found a good place in the city. Clark, naturally, had gotten to work on that immediately, not wanting to cost the sweet, young(ish) editor any more than he needed. Besides, he wasn't exactly comfortable with his boss essentially paying money to an infamous mobster.

The Manheim Hotel was owned by the millionaire Bruno Manheim, whose family had a long and bloody legacy as the masterminds of Metropolis's world of organised crime. His father, little, old man Moxie Manheim, was then-currently serving a quadruple life sentence for murder-in-the-first-degree, extortion, theft and armed robbery. His little sister, Jennifer Manheim, had been murdered a few months ago for, presumably, trying to break away from the fold and go her own way, leaving the life of a mobster. She had recently donated hundreds of thousands out of her own trust-fund to the Alexei Luthor Foundation, which helped to benefit struggling places around the world, Clark remembered reading about it in the paper.

Lex Luthor, at least, Clark thought, was a good man. The most honourable man in Metropolis. A genius too. The son of the billionaire, Lionel Luthor, he had thought up some of the most innovative and handy technology in the world. He made the first touchscreen phone in his basement, years before Steve Jobs or any of those clever people at Apple had ever thought of such a thing. As well as being a technological genius, he was also a medical one, having found a cure for cerebral palsy and directly administered it to clients for free, as to not get his work mixed up in the mess that was the American health industry. Word was that he was going to tackle cancer next.

Lex Luthor was somebody you could believe in.

Somebody Clark could believe in.

And, as if by some sort of miracle, the boy who fell to Earth had actually spotted him on only his second day in Metropolis. He had seen him walking across the golden lobby of the Manheim Hotel and making his way to a private elevator. It wasn't the first time he had seen him in person, though they had never officially met, as Lex's father, Lionel Luthor, once gave a speech at Smallville High. It was an odd and seemingly random event, the elder Luthor hadn't grown up in Smallville, nor ever taken an interest in the small town before, but, nevertheless, his presence was welcomed, at least by everyone but Lana, who believed he was a "corrupt hack". It was on that day when Clark spotted a young man standing at Lionel Luthor's side, the one who would later become Metropolis's most favourite son. Clark continued to think about how baffling it was that he saw Lex Luthor on his second day in the city, in the Manheim Hotel, of all places.

Even in the big, old city of Metropolis, it was a small world.

Clark was talking to his editor on his cellphone, pacing back and forth in the centre of the living room, right in front of the massive window that gave him a good look at the sprawling skyline of the city he had recently sworn to protect. He spoke into his device, "Yeah, the hotel's really just… spectacular… but I think I've found a place."

"Well, how'd you get it so fast and cheap?" George Taylor asked through the speaker, his nasally and loud voice projecting through into Clark's ears and partially off-setting his super-hearing, "It's not in Suicide Slum, is it?"

"No. Course not." Clark answered, telling the partial truth. His "new place" wasn't in Southside. It wasn't really a "new" place at all. It was in Smallville, almost one thousand and five hundred miles away. Kent figured he could just run home to his parents' and back every day, though he hadn't figured out how he was going to explain it to his boss, nor how he was going to deal with apologising to Lana. "Definitely _not_ in the SS."

"You sound like you're lying."

"No, sir."

"I just don't know how you were able to find a place so quickly, I mean, finding somewhere in New Troy is a pain in the ass." George continued, "And the rent? Oh boy, it's even worse."

"It's… uh… not in New Troy. It's in-" Clark went through the names of the friendly neighbourhoods his editor had told him about, "-uh, Little Bohemia?"

"Was that a question or an answer, sweetie?"

"Answer... sir."

"Good. And stop calling me "sir". I told you, George is just fine." George continued, "Just keep yourself away from the SS, alright?"

"Alright."

"I mean, that old farmer's muscle might help you out back home in Littletown, Kansas but out here they'll tear your throat out and kill your dog, okay, honey?"

"Yeah."

"I mean, the only reporter I ever saw walk into that place and come out with both limbs intact was _Lois_ _Lane_ , and we don't talk about _her_ , remember?" George nervously laughed. Losing ace, Pulitzer-considered reporter Lois Lane to the Daily Planet was, at least he thought, his greatest failure in a decade of editing the paper, and he reminded his staff of it almost every day, "Damn that Perry White. _Worst_ editor in Metropolis."

"Worst editor in Metropolis."

"Yep." Taylor paused, losing his train of thought, "Welp. Anyway. I'll get out of your hair. You enjoy yourself in that _five-star hotel room_ , alright?"

"Of course."

"But nothing too crazy."

"Of course not."

"Just… relax, kick your feet up… because soon you'll be so swamped that you won't find time to."

"The life of the reporter, eh?"

"It's just that." George chuckled, "Seeya."

"Catch you later." He threw his old, scratched-up red Motorola flip-phone onto the couch, stepping up to the massive window that allowed him to look down on the city from almost a bird's-eye view. A web of buildings was laid down in front of him, the city was shrouded in darkness except for a large collection of boxed up specs of light. From up there, if you looked hard enough, you'd be able to spot the bright, electronic billboards and signs of Glenmorgan Square, and if you listened hard enough, at least, at that very moment on that dark night, you would be able to hear the loud ring of an alarm bell blaring from LL Department Store, and the police and media circus that followed it.

Clark removed his glasses. Widened his ears. Closed his eyes. The screaming. The screeching. The sirens. The gunfire. The madness. Yes. That was why he was there. Why he was _really_ there. That was the reason he left Smallville. He ripped his shirt open, revealing cold, black Kevlar. He pulled a matching shadowy cowl over his head. A shroud of complete and utter darkness covered his face, two blood red pupils radiating from within it.

Creek.

The window opened, Kent standing at the edge. His toes lifted the rest of his body up, his hands fixed hard to his sides, he leant forward and then he dropped. A hundred-thousand nuclear bombs made of thick, heavy air collided with his face, his arms springing out like an eagle's wings at the exact right moment. A gravitational field began to form around his body, completely consuming him, a collection of dust beginning to float around his feet and hands. His body propelled forward into the sky, the farm boy finally beginning to break through the air like a bullet. Like a battering ram, the boy smashed through the soft and smoggy grey clouds and into the city.

It was beautiful. Or had the potential to be. He veered his right side down, heading to the Department Store in Glenmorgan Square.

* * *

 **2016, A Thursday in January**

 **Ross Corn Farm,** **•** **Smallville**

"Wait. Wait. Wait. LL's?" Pete interrupted, "You mean that place that got _shot up_ last week!? _That_ place? So you… oh, you're not serious…"

"Look. I'm getting to that."

"No. No. No. No. Your mom was over here _scared_ out of her _mind_ about you. You're not _glossing_ over that!"

"I'm not gonna!"

"Have you apologised to her? Have you even _spoken_ to her!? Explained what _happened!?_ " Pete yelled.

Clark paused. Pete glared into his eyes, outraged and disappointed.

"You complete dumbass." Lana groaned. "Honestly, you've hit a new low."

"Pete. I need you to do me a favour. Please."

Pete's face slammed into his palms, he pulled out his phone once more and dialed up a number.

"You can just click on your contac-"

Pete gave him a dead stare.

 **Later.**

A woman in her mid 40s sat between her son's two best friends on Pete's bed. She looked around the room, instantly noticing the dirty pile of clothes on the floor, the empty, greasy pizza box sitting on the kid's desk and the clumps of dog hair littered around the space, letting out a quiet sigh. Clark broke the ice. "So how's it going, Ma?"

"Aw. It's all good. I'm just glad you're home, son." Martha Kent beamed, "I wish you'd have told me you were coming back, I'd've set up your room for you."

Clark gave her a loving smile, "You don't need to do that, Mom."

"It's no trouble, son."

Lana cut in, ending their little moment, "Um, Mrs Kent. Martha. Clark has a story to tell. _And_ an apology to give."

"Yes. I was wondering why you all dragged me here. But an apology for what, son?" Martha enquired.

"I… uh… I scared the life out of you last week. And it's not just that. It's other things. Just please. Let me tell you what happened."

* * *

 **A Week Ago.**

 **LL Department Store,** **•** **Glenmorgan Square, Metropolis**

Lois Lane was not someone who would ever want to be caught dead in a department store, especially not one owned by Lex Luthor.

She was returning a gift that the big man himself had personally delivered to her, the most expensive thing in the place. Upon reception, she rejected it like the body did to poison, because it may as well have been if it came from _him_. As well as for that reason, high-end, designer fashion was simply not her style; if something was cheap, practical, looked reasonably presentable and kept her warm during the winter, Lois Lane would wear it. She didn't care much for what was in vogue or what would grab her the most attention, of course, unless she _needed_ to grab somebody's attention for work purposes. That was how her strange relationship with Lex Luthor started, after all. And somehow, that strange relationship led her on this path. To this moment in time.

Lois was sat up against the checkout desk of the LL Department Store on the ground floor whilst two armed men marched up and down the area before her, the crooks demanding that the police bring her nemesis, Lex Luthor, to them so they could, presumably, execute him. In her hand she held the expensive, verdant green dress that the billionaire philanthropist had given her, tearing apart its fabric in a moment of stress. There she was, stuck right in the centre of a story. A big story. And if, maybe, hypothetically, Lex Luthor _really_ showed up and _really_ let himself be publically executed to save the lives of innocents, the _biggest_ story.

But a hypothetical wasn't enough for Lois Lane, neither was a simple department store robbery with a couple of your bog-standard faceless crooks. Maybe it might have been special because of where it was but she needed more. She needed motive. She needed cause. She needed drama. The story behind the story.

Closely watching the mannerisms and paying attention to the movements and speech patterns of her captors, she almost instantly noticed a weaker link in the pair. One had a slight shiver in every step, a shake in his walk. His voice was higher, but not naturally, it was the result of obviously being forced to do something he did not want to do. He was scared. Scared out of his mind.

The Daily Planet's ace reporter waited for something to separate the two, and given how alarmed the both of them were, though one was more so than the other, she knew it wouldn't take long for some sort of noise or paranoid hunch to send them up to the unguarded first floor. And she was right.

"Stay here." The larger, more confident one commanded, almost as if he was the one keeping the other one there, "I'm gonna go look upstairs."

"Mhm."

"Don't do nothing stupid." He said, "Try me and you're _dead_. Understood?"

"Uh… understood."

"Good." He headed to the elevator, pressing the big, black button and then waiting a second for the lift to arrive. Both doors opened, the man stepping in leaving. Lois smiled.

Taking a breath, she spoke, "What does he have on you?"

"What!?" The armed crook turned, nervously shouting back, "You better- you'd better be quiet!"

" _Listen_. I'm a reporter, I work for the Daily Planet. I have friends in high places, I can help you."

"Ain't nobody that can help me except myself, alright?" He turned to watch the sirens through the windows, "Nobody. I just… I just gotta do what I gotta do and then it'll all be fine."

"Hey, I…"

"Look, writing some fancy article isn't gonna help me get out of the great, big pile of shit I'm in so I… I suggest you just shut up before the other guy gets back, okay!?"

Lois thought for a second, "What's your name?"

"Huh?"

"What's your name? Mine's Lois." She paused, "Come on, it's not like it's gonna matter for much longer."

"Art-Arthur. My name's Arthur." He sighed, "People call me Artie."

"Alright, Artie, let me help you."

"I…" He's cut off by the ding-a-ling of the elevator, its two doors shuffling open and revealing the sorry, barely conscious carcass of Artie's partner.

The thug looks up, his nose bleeding into his mouth, he groans, "He's coming…"

Artie yells, frightened, "Who!? Who's coming!?"

"Me." A fast-moving, blurry black mass spoke, its distorted voice echoing through the room. It sped into the helpless Arthur, causing him to drop his gun, and slammed him against the wall at the end of the room. As it stopped, Lois's eyes began to be able to focus on it, on the massive, red-eyed, armoured monster who held its terrified victim up into the air.

"Who…? What…?"

"I'm _**The Bullet**_." Clark Kent spoke from behind his mask, "And you're _**scum**_." The Bullet's head turned, his ears detecting the cock of a gun. He looked up to the lights, his heat vision handedly taking out the bulbs and allowing him to escape into the darkness. The other thug, who was now back on his feet and stalking the ground floor of the store, marched back and forth, looking for the Bullet. Clark watched him from the far-right corner of the ceiling, deciding to gracefully and silently descend from behind him and take him down that way. It would have worked if his mother hadn't decided to call him at the least convenient time possible.

The thug turned, alarmed by the ring of Clark's phone, and shot five rounds into the boy who fell to Earth. The Bullet flew across the room, finding cover behind the counter and leaping over the crouching Lois Lane, who scurried across the room undetected by the gunman. Clark pulled out his phone, clicking a button and answering it, "Ma!"

"Clark, honey, I know…"

"Ma! This is not a good time!"

"Clark!?"

"Ma!"

"Clark, are those gunshots!?"

"Mom! Bye!"

* * *

 **2016, A Thursday in January**

 **Ross Corn Farm,** **•** **Smallville**

THWACK!

Clark received a slap in the face that was harsher and more draining than any shotgun blast ever could be. His mother stared into his eyes, "So it WAS gunfire, huh?" She put her finger in his face, "Don't you dare ever do that to me again."

"I'm sorry, Ma." He responded. "I'm really, really, really sorry."

Mrs. Kent sat back down, beginning to calm. "I know you are." She continued, "And you owe your father an apology too... and Pete here."

Clark looked to Pete, who was trying his hardest not to burst into laughter, "Sorry buddy."

"It's ok- -" He chuckled. "It's ok- -it's okay. I forgive you."

"Moving on."

"That's not even end of the story?" Lana groaned, "I thought we were done here."

"Nope."

* * *

 **A Week Ago.**

 **LL Department Store,** **•** **Glenmorgan Square, Metropolis**

Clark Kent, the Bullet, felt around his face. Just a little blood. A few scratches. His mask was completely torn away. He looked down at his stomach where the bleeding was worse, unable to resist touching it and unleashing a shower of cold, harsh pain which ran through his entire body. The gunshots continued to ring and ring and ring, the back of Clark's neck now beginning to be able to feel their impact in the air. Smacking his crown against the wooden counter, and almost smashing his entire head through the timber in the process, he let out a sore wail as he questioned what in the world it was he was doing. _I'm such an idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot._

And then, all of a sudden, the gunshots stopped.

Clark lifted his head up over the counter, his eyes finding a tall, petite, brown haired young lady standing over the unconscious body of the thug who had taken the store hostage. In her hand, she held a bloodied, heavy, blue metal hole-puncher. She laughed, "Would'ya look at that? I just did your job for you."

"Uhhh…"

"Come on over here, Mr. Bullitt."

Clark complied, "Uhh…"

"Uhh?"

"Uhm."

"Uhm…?"

"Darn."

Lois sighed, turning to Arthur, who ran over to the two in a haste, "You two! You idiots don't know what you've done! He's got her! I gotta… we gotta save her…"

"Arthur, calm down." Lois tried to console him, "Who? He's got who?"

"He's got Cassie. Manheim, he's got her… he has my daughter..."

" _Bruno_ Manheim?" Clark asked, "Bruno Manheim has your daughter?"

"Yes."

" _He_ made you do this?" Lois asked. "Bruno Manheim made you?"

"You have any idea where he's holding her?" Clark asked, "Any at all?"

"They're at my place." Arthur pulled his ID out of his pocket and handed it to Clark, "Please. You gotta help her."

"Got it." Clark turned to leave, Lois putting her hand on his shoulder. "Excuse me, Miss?"

"You're taking me with you."

"It's too dangerous."

"I just _saved_ your life, you thundering dumbass." Lois explained, "I'm a reporter, chasing the story is what I do."

Clark let off a slight grin, allowing her a bit of professional courtesy, "Alright. Try not to throw up."

* * *

 **2016, A Thursday in January**

 **Ross Corn Farm,** **•** **Smallville**

"Cute." Pete smiled, "Did you get her number?"

"Nope. Not even her name. Though I think I might've seen her face before."

"Tragic." He remarked, leaning back and trying to ignore the killer glare that Lana was giving him, "The two of you could've talked about… about reporter stuff."

"She sounds mean." Martha spoke, throwing her opinion into the ring as she looked over to Lana, trying to reassure her, "Very, very mean."

"What… uh…" Lana broke in, trying to forget that the last few moments had just happened, "What happened next?"

"Well. We… we went over to Suicide Slum… or _Southside_ , rather. My editor told me not to head down there. I'd heard of it in the news, I'd… well. We've _all_ seen it. It's not got too good of a reputation. And we went straight through. It wasn't the evil I thought I was gonna fight when I arrived in Metropolis and put on that dumb, _dumb_ costume… it was _desperation_." Clark paused for a second. "I ran until we reached a place right on the edge of town."

* * *

 **A Week Ago.**

 **The Andrews Household** **•** **Suicide Slum, Metropolis**

They reached the worn-down and rotting wooden door of a small, decaying old house, Clark taking note of the weathered "Andrews" decal printed on the old-fashioned, 50s-style letterbox. It was fitting as the whole place looked like it hadn't been refurbished or even touched since that time, though, in comparison to the other houses on the street, it looked like the Playboy Mansion. The entire area seemed like it had been abandoned, despite the fair amount of loiterers who were hanging about on the street, and the two reporters were practically up to their waists in trash, which covered the sidewalks and spilled out into the road. Along the footpath, a long, curved line of street lights stood, dimmed out and a good number of them just plain-not-working.

Clark stepped up and lifted his arm to knock and then relaxed it when he heard the voice of Lois, who was trailing behind him on the porch. "Hold up!" She said as she tried to readjust herself after having travelled 600 miles-per-hour to get to their current location. "Wait."

Slamming his head into his right palm, Clark let out a sigh, he'd forgotten about the effect his super-speed had on others, turning his head and telling her that "It's okay if you throw up. Everyone does the first time."

"Everyone?" The reporter choked, leant over the porch of Artie Andrews's home, "I never asked, how do you do all this?"

"Oh. Uh. I'm an alien."

"Ah. Suppose that makes sense. Which planet?"

"Krypton. You've probably never heard of it."

"Ha. Ya know. Besides the whole spooky red-eyed devil thing, you're not very good at being scary." She remarked as she tried to stop her stomach from exploding, "Let me guess, small-town-boy trying to make a difference in the big city?"

"I'm not going to answer that."

"So that's a yes, then?" Lois straightened her back, walking ahead of Clark and signing him to follow, "Alright, _vamos_."

"Cool. Wait here."

"Look, I'm a big girl, I can- -" Before she could finish her sentence, Lois was forced to watch as her new friend smashed through the front door, like were made out of paper mache, and zoomed into the interior of the house. "- -handle myself."

She sighed.

As the ace reporter waited outside and listened in to the insane, superhero movie-esc action set piece that ensued like a blind lady at the movie theatre, she began to think about how in the world she would convince her editor, the famous, iron-willed sceptic, Perry White, to publish an article which would claim that she was saved from certain death by an incompetent, wannabe-Avenger. There was only one other reliable witness, the girl who worked at LL's behind the checkout desk, but asking _her_ for an eyewitness account would be tough, given how short and rude Lois had been with her about returning that ugly green dress. Perhaps footage from the store's security camera would be able to give her some sort of credibility but the Daily Planet's best reporter knew that the Metropolis Police Department's Special Crimes Unit would have that under lock-and-key as soon as they found evidence of a real-life, flesh and blood superhero on it. They were tricky like that.

And then, like lightning, she was struck with an idea.

She thought, _Maybe, if i..._

And then, all of a sudden, she was interrupted.

 _Damn._

"All done." The Bullet spoke as he popped his head through the doorway, " _Vamos_."

"Vamos." She grinned, stepping inside and looking around in suppressed awe at the scattering of unconscious bodies laid around the living room of the old house. "So I was thinking, it makes sense that Manheim would want to kill Luthor, right?"

"Yeah, I mean, Luthor would be his biggest rival in the city, if you think about it."

"Yep. But…"

"But why would he need Artie to do it? Why pin it on _him_ specifically?"

"There has to be a reason why Bruno Manheim chose Arthur Andrews out of anybody in this whole entire city to kill Lex Luthor. We _have_ to find out why."

"Are you guys cops?" A pitch-black silhouette with a feminine figure spoke from the very top of the tall staircase at the end of the corridor, which led out from the front door. Her voice had a sickly raspiness to it, every word spoken like it caused her pain to speak, as if she had small, jagged stones in in her throat. She continued, "If you are, just… leave, alright? I don't want anything to do with… Just take that trash away from me and leave, please."

"We're… uh… friends of your dad's." Lois spoke back, "We're just trying to piece together what happened. With Luthor, with Manheim, with your father."

"Yeah. I heard everything you were saying." She paused for a moment, about to turn away but changing her mind mid-spin, "I can tell you. About everything."

 **Cassie's Room,** **•** **Upstairs**

Clark Kent and Lois Lane sat across from Cassie Andrews, staring into her eyes as she began to tell the two a story. Her story. Her face was heavily scarred, the right side of it covered in severe burns and her iris on that same side a milky grey. Her hair was a bright blonde, the left side of her face covered in freckles. Clark was struck by her natural beauty, almost managing to look past the distorted lens her right side had to be viewed through. Almost. Lois's eyes stayed fixed and unaffected, her face carved out of the hardest, roughest stone.

Tears were already beginning to form in Cassie's eyes as she tried to remember. As she forced herself to remember her time with Lex Luthor. She began, "So I just cut his hair… and we… we hit it off. We were making fun of each other, he was really charming. We just had a nice… y'know… flow with each other." She stopped for a moment. "So I got finished with it and he pays me. He stops. Asks me if he knew who he was. I say "no". Then he just leaves. So that's the last I think I'll ever see of the guy." Her voice crackled, the tears beginning to fall.

"Miss. Uh..." Clark pulled a packet of tissues from his pocket. "Here." He passed them over to her, Lois watching and holding back an enchanted grin.

"Thanks." She wiped her eyes. "So a few days later… it's Christmas morning- - you probably heard of this on the news- - or somewhere- - but a guy dressed up as Santa knocks on our door and gives everyone on the street a free phone. Everyone in the city. It was the, uh, the LX C. People were lining up for days for that thing outside the L-Tech stores but… turned out they were all getting one for free. On the box was this big picture of that same guy I'd cut the hair of a few days earlier.

So a couple of days later… when we'd reopened after the holidays, he rocks up again." She choked for a moment. "Asks me if I know who he is _now_. He offers me _everything_. To leave all this behind and come with him and live in his tower. All this money… and… I say- - oh god, I'm an idiot- - I say _yes_."

"Hey. It's okay." Lois cut in.

"Thanks, miss. But it's okay. I was… I was _dumb_. So I stay with the bastard for 10 months. He gets _abusive_. He gets _distant_. He gets manipulative. So I get paranoid, I start taping him, I bug his office and I find out about something _big_."

Clark and Lois, both eager reporters, leant forward.

Cassie continued, "The Manheims, the Glenmorgans, the Vincenzos… they all answer to _him_. Everything wrong and screwed up about this city, it's all _his_ doing. Him and his society."

"Society?" Lois asked. "What society?"

"There's a little council he has who run the city with him." Cassie explained, "There's him, there's Veronica Cale, there's Maxwell Lord, G Gordon Godfrey, Rudy Jones and Barbara Minerva..."

"The popstar?" Lane almost laughed, Clark's super-hearing detecting the slight chuckle and passing judgement on her.

"He has this crazy idea on controlling people through what they listen to… I never paid much attention to it…"

"So what did you do?" Clark asked, "After you found out…?"

"I cut myself off from him. Went back home. But _no one_ cuts off Lex Luthor. A whole ton of pictures of me… bad ones… "leak" out on the Internet the day after I break it off. Entire world sees me like that. And… that phone that everyone got… it has it built in so that it alerts you each time Lex posts something on Facebook, Twitter… anything. So I'm getting sandblasted from all over the place. Then. When all of that dies down… a guy comes up to me at work and throws some stuff in my face… all I remember is… just… the burning. Screaming. The pain."

"Did the cops-?"

"Cops wouldn't do anything. He owns the cops. He owns the media too. He and all those other guys. Nobody could help me. No one can. So. I- -uh- - I appreciate what you're trying to do here, but it's just… it's all just so pointless… and now my dad's gonna go to jail for something he didn't do."

Lois bitterly nodded, Clark shocked at her almost nihilistic and blind acceptance.

"You're wrong." He said, as he leant back in his seat. "Got a pen?" Cassie reached over and handed him one and he wrote down his number and name, "Here. Name's Clark. Clark Kent. I'm a journalist. If you ever need anything...give me a call."

Lois laughed, the other two staring at her in confusion. Cassie turned back to Clark, "Thanks, but- -"

"Cassie." The Kansas boy cut her off. "I'm not going to stop until you get the justice you deserve. I _promise_ you that."

 **Two Minutes Later.**

Clark and Lois exited the house, walking back into the chill of the cold Metropolis night. Clark leant forward into her in a rush of anger, adrenaline and morbid excitement, Lois relaying this energy back onto him and madly grinning. He began to speak and think, the cogs in his brain spinning and spinning, "Alright."

"Alright."

"So Manheim, old style mobster guy, right?"

"Right."

"He gets sick of the new management, Lex Luthor. Wants to get rid of him, get back to the old ways, but he knows that Lex's friends are powerful enough to trace any of the hired goons he'd hire to kill Lex back to him, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So he finds a guy with motive. Arthur Andrews, a guy who's daughter's life was ruined by Lex Luthor. There's no reason this guy _wouldn't_ want to see Luthor dead. Forces him to go over to LL's and pull the trigger himself. Yep?"

"Yep. So."

"So that's the whole picture. We've also got Lex Luthor, billionaire philanthropist, hero of the city, down as the real-life Kingpin of crime. We've got it!"

"We've got it." They both paused, Clark beginning to come down from the trill of the hunt and wonder what his next move was going to be. Lois, on the other hand, psychotically grimaced at her fellow journalist as if he were a piece of fresh meat, she chuckled, "So… Clark Kent. You're that new kid at the Daily Star, aren't you?"

"Please don't tell."

"I'm not going to."

"Thank you."

"I've got a good enough story to tell with Luthor being in cahoots with Barbara Minerva of all people." Lois joked, "Suppose it makes sense, really. Can't destroy the world without ruining the music industry."

"What?"

"What!?"

"Sorry, repeat that."

"No…?"

"Are you serious?"

" _What_?"

"You mean, you knew Luthor was a bad guy? You _knew_ all along!?"

"...yeah?"

"And that's _all_ you took from what we just heard…!? That Luthor's _boinking_ some popstar!?"

"Boinking?"

"It's a phrase!"

"God. Look, Kent. What happened to that girl in there is just… god awful... but, in this day-and-age, it's ancient history. We can't do anything about it. We can't take Luthor down on charges of a messy breakup, okay!?" She continued, "Believe me, I'd love to. He's a _creep_ when he's lonely."

"But a life, _somebody_ 's life… the _life_ of that girl we just spoke to is _over_. He took everything from her. They all did."

"They've taken a lot from a lot of people, kid." Lois sighed, "They do it every day."

"So we should stop them."

"What do you propose we _do_? What _are_ you even _doing_? What is this _thing_ that you've decided to become? Did you think _punching_ criminals was really going to solve this city's problems?" She stepped up to him, "How are we going to stop Luthor? Or Manheim? Or Lord? Or Glenmorgan? Or any of these crooks? Are you going to _kill_ them all? As far as I can tell, those crooks over at the store and those guys in there are still _breathing_ , you're not making an example of anyone. You're not a threat to any of these guys."

"Alright, we'll attack with our words, then."

"Nobody cares about your words, Kent."

"So… so Lex Luthor and his team of billionaire bad guys, they just roam free, sucking the life out of the city, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And people like us, we're just supposed to let them get away with that?" Clark began to squeal, "It's not right."

"I know."

"It's kind of awful, in fact."

"I _know_."

"It seems like you're saying that you know but you really _don't_ know."

"Trust me, I know what you're saying, Kent. But take a look at where we are right now, it's called _Suicide Slum_ for a reason. Nobody cares about what happens down here."

"Jesus Christ. You call it that like it's _nothing_ , like those words _mean_ nothing."

"Well they don't. And they haven't. Not for a good while." Lois began to walk away, a hint of regret and sadness visible in her eyes. However, it is just a hint, and is unable to stop her from leaving, "Just… just forget it, Kent, it's Chinatown."

And he was left there, alone in the middle of the street with an uncontrollable rage building up inside of him. _Forget it, Kent._ He repeated in his head, _forget it, Kent._

 _Just forget it._

 _Forget. It._

* * *

 **2016, A Thursday in January**

 **Ross Corn Farm,** **•** **Smallville**

"You paid Luthor a visit that night. Surely. You had to have." Lana spoke for the first time in 20 minutes or so. "Clark. If you didn't, I'm going to murder you."

"Of course I did. I put a new mask on, red eyes, everything. I was going to scare him. Put the fear of God into the guy."

* * *

 **A Week Ago.**

 **LexCorp Tower** **•** **New Troy, Metropolis**

Alexei Luthor stumbled into his office, drunk out of his mind. His arms and legs swayed back and forth, two beautiful young women on each side of him, kissing his neck. He giggled, his left shoe falling off as the two dragged him straight into the bedroom.

All of a sudden he stopped.

"Ladies, how about you go in there and wait?" He got to his feet, straightening out his posture and fixing his cuffs. He patted his hair down, his voice becoming deeper and more serious in tone. "Well. Hello there."

The Bullet sat across from him in his own chair, behind Luthor's own desk, hiding in the shadows. "Alexei Luthor." His eyes grew red.

"That's me. Hold still for a minute." Luthor pulled out his Android from his right pocket, taking a picture of the shadowed figure and posting it on every social media outlet possible with a clever caption. "Those are some cool contacts you have on there."

"Cassie Andrews. You ruined her life."

"You her new boy-toy?"

"You publically shamed her and then threw acid in her face."

"What proof do you have?"

"Listen, buddy-"

"No. You listen, cupcake." Luthor marched up to the Bullet. "Look at you. A man in a mask with a chip on his shoulder, trying to scare me with some spooky contact lenses. What're you going to do, arrest me? Take me to the police with that dumb sock over your face? No self respecting member of the MCPD is ever going to trust a masked psycho over the most respected and valued man in the city. In fact, nobody would." He paused. "Quick lesson. Basic Logic 101 here. Wearing a mask makes you seem like you've got something to hide. That's dangerous. That's scary. Look at me. I'm out in the open. My life is plastered all over the walls in this city. I'm an open book, you see. What, are you trying to scare _me_ with that mask? I assure you, I've seen worse. Much worse."

"It's not about scaring people. It's about justice."

"JUSTICE!?" Luthor laughed. "Justice? I am _Chief Justice_ in this town. And the _Mayor_. And the Commissioner of Police. And the Force. I am the media. I am the jury. I am the people. I am… well, I guess I'd be God. And do you know what it took to get here?" Lex pulled a spare LX C from his pocket and threw it at the Bullet. "Just _one_ of these. You can _keep_ it. I don't get the sense that you know who I am. Not well enough. It's basically my ongoing autobiography."

"You're wrong." Clark yelled. "I know exactly who you are. You're the diseased maniac who destroyed the life of an innocent girl. You're the leech draining the warmth from the heart of this city. You're nothing but a bully. And I'll be watching you very, very closely. You don't _know_ who _I_ am… but you're about to." The Bullet removed his mask to reveal the face of the boy beneath it. He stood, turning his head and melting the handle of the window with his heat-vision, swinging it open. His feet pushed against the ground, propelling himself into the air. "Look out for me."

Lex watched in awe as the mystery man magically flew away, uttering under his breath " _Diseased_ _maniac_? What is this, 1978?"

* * *

 **2016, A Thursday in January**

 **Ross Corn Farm,** **•** **Smallville**

"And that's why I'm here. Lana. Pete. You were right about me going it alone in the city… being a dumb… vigilante. Wearing that stupid mask. I realise now that these people don't need fear, the good and the bad, not even monsters like Luthor. They need _hope_. And I can't give them that hiding behind a mask, trying to scare people. _We_ can't." Clark stopped for a second. "And I want you to come with me. To Metropolis. Like you wanted to in the first place. These people think they're _Gods_ , they think that they can _walk_ all over and _manipulate_ and _oppress_. It's time we used their weapons…" Clark lifted up the LX C Lex gave to him, "...against them. It's time we made a _difference_. Properly. By fighting _against_ injustice."

"Cool." Pete smiled, "Alright. Nice pitch."

Martha clapped her hands, leaning back and letting the three friends talk amongst themselves and hatch a plan to save Metropolis. Lana leant forward, interested and ready to give Lex Luthor a great, big, kick-up-the-backside but curious as to how they'd do it. She asked, "Alright? How?"

* * *

 **A Month Later,**

 **Southside,** **•** **Metropolis**

Clark carried three boxes, all stacked on top of one another, into a building all three of the old friends from Smallville had leased, Pete trotted on behind him, struggling to carry just one of them. "Show off." He laughed, "Just not fair."

The two met Lana, who had already set up their phone on the ground floor, as well as one of the offices. She smiled at them, "Are those the last ones?"

"Yeah." Pete groaned placing his last box down. "Thank God."

Lana scurried over to Clark, who laid down his share of the last few boxes, holding something in her hand. "The cards came in the mail." She shows him a handful of them, "We are now all official members of the 'Call Kal' organisation."

The cards read:

' _If you ever need help, just give us a call!'_

An address and the name of the organisation were also printed onto the cards. Lana continued, "These also came in the mail. Uniforms… which you informed neither of us of." She lifted up a clear plastic packet which contained three blue shirts with a yellow and red "S" shield printed onto them. "What do the S's stand for?"

"Southside, of course. And Smallville. Gotta rep, Lana."

"It's kind of a corny design."

"Maybe we need a bit of corny. Bit of fun."

Pete jumped in, "I know a way we can have a bit of fun!" A chilly bottle of champagne was in his right hand, as well as three glasses.

"Here, here!" Lana yelled, Pete pouring the liquid into each of the three glasses. "To Southside."

"TO SOUTHSIDE!"

"To Southside! And Smallville!"

Their celebration was cut off by a loud barking sound, which sounded like it came from their car outside. Clark chuckled, "Shoot. Aha. Left Krypto in the car. Be right back."

* * *

 **TBC.**

 **Stay tuned for more chapters in this series. While you're at it, check out some of the other Wave I DC Redux titles in this bold new shared universe, which include: Batman: Beyond Gotham by Ivan Krolo, Green Lantern: The Book of Oa by Bodhi Ouellette, The Flash: Incandescent Legacy by James Brady and Green Arrow: KIA by George Jones.**

 **Also be sure to check out some of the NEW Wave II DC Redux titles coming out, such as, Catwoman: Valentina by Bodhi Ouellette, the anthology title, DC Redux Showcase Presents by various authors and Wonder Woman: Young Americans, also by Joey West.**

* * *

 _ **Here's an epilogue.**_

* * *

 **2016, a Friday Night in January**

 **Kent Farm,** **•** **Smallville**

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Clark Kent made his way right to the very end of the field at the outside of his childhood home, marching his feet through the snow. At the end he found his parents, gazing at a crater in the ground filled with green rock, which was mostly hidden by a thick sheet of snow, Clark looked to his parents, "I'm sorry… about everything. How I've been for the last few months."

Martha patted her husband on the back, "I know, son. And I forgive you." She left, "I think you two need to talk. Alone."

"Dad, I-"

"Son. When we found you and that dog in this crater and decided to take you in we knew what we were getting ourselves into. What we were setting ourselves up for. You found out who you were, son. You found your real family."

"No. Pa. I didn't. I found history. I found my heritage. But my planet, my- birth parents- all of it, long dead. I found that- in search of home… I ended up getting further and further away from it. Jor-El and Lara… they gave me life. And I will be eternally grateful for that. And I will honour them until the day I die. But you guys… _you're_ my mom and dad, you're my family. You raised me. And kept the dog...which was a real sweet thing to do. I'll be a Kent till the day I die." The two embraced, snow beginning to fall once more.

"I love you, son. Now you be careful out there, alright? You, Pete and Lana."

Clark nodded.

"And take Krypto too. He's a great big pain in the ass without you around."

* * *

 **End Chapter.**


	2. Bang (1)

**SIX MONTHS LATER.**

 **11AM, A Friday in July**

 **1929 Feet Above Ground**

 **Lex Luthor's Penthouse • LexCorp Tower, Metropolis**

Slowly, hazily and painfully falling through the thick, eggshell-white-painted walls of a hard drug and alcohol fuelled sleep, eighteen-year-old ex-Disney kid, Harmony Faith reached over the King-sized bed she laid in and through the impossibly soft 1000 thread count bed sheets, expecting her hand to meet the warmth of the insanely wealthy man she had shared the night with. She only met what felt like a bucket of ice cubes compared to the cushioning and comfortable heat she had generated in her long, uninterrupted sleep.

The sheets rolled over each other, as her back threw itself up and onto the ebony headboard, giving her a full view of the room at daylight. Her perfect, shimmering blonde hair flowed down her spine like a smooth tide, pulling everything north towards her head, which she obsessively scratched and rubbed. A beautiful verdant green set of eyes rolled around twenty-five-year-old billionaire Lex Luthor's bedroom and, as they did, it became apparent to the young pop star pretty quickly that this was the real Andy Warhol museum and that the building in Pittsburgh which claimed to be was one big fat lie. Dollar signs, revolvers, cows, a Campbell's soup can, a couple of Mao Zedongs and a number Marilyn Monroes stared at her with dead eyes as they hanged from the walls like a band of face-painted criminals.

Her feet hit the thick fur of the ivory white bear rug which was laid out beside Luthor's bed, both of them sinking in and almost becoming lost within its river of chalky hair. After a moment of inspection, she noticed a plush Winnie the Pooh head crudely stitched onto the piece of fur in place of a real bear's head. She then put one foot in front of the other, repeated, and then continued repeating, travelling past the transparent glass door (noticing a "foggy glass" button which was connected to it by a pair of loose wires) and into the library, which was the next room from the bedroom.

A complete change in aesthetic took place as while the bedroom was more of a modern art project, the library took shape as more of a wooden carving. Her finger followed along the lone but massive and sprawling bookcase. The books had no specific order, not alphabetical by name nor author. There was no pattern. "Thus Spoke Zarathustra", "The Sandman: Dream Country", "Capital and Other Writings", "The Complete The World At Will and Representation", "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest", "How I Accidentally Started the Sixties", "V For Vendetta", "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz" and "Northern Lights" all stood together, some in hardcover form and some in paperback. A framed, vinyl copy of Pink Floyd's "Animals" hung from the wall, next to it a series of movie tickets and lanyards from Cannes, Sundance and Venice film festivals. The smell of incense spread throughout this room and grew stronger as Harmony walked into the next, her nose welcoming its sweet aroma.

The popstar pushed past the tall mahogany door and into the next room on floor 163 (of 164) of LexCorp tower, which sat empty but for a vintage Michell Focus One record player and the waist-high box that it sat on, which at that moment played "Otis" by Kanye West and Jay-Z, the music echoing through this floor and into the one above. The walls were painted a solid matte black, the floor a set of large white tiles. A mockingly tall, thin but super-strong glass window bent over the room into the ceiling and stood at almost 15 feet tall. Alexei Luthor stood looking down directly at his iPhone, bare and naked for the entire city to see. Miss Faith headed over to him, the pristine white tile floor freezing her heels and toes with each step she took. She rested her right hand on his chiselled, unbelievably muscular abdomen and played with his long(ish) ginger hair with her left. Smiling at him, she asked, "Whatcha looking at?"

He let off a mumble which sounded vaguely similar to "shut up", her eyes then leering over his shoulder and then back down at his phone, where he scrolled through his Twitter feed. All of the tweets seemed to have the same hashtag attached share the same subject. They were all about some kind of hero. Some kind of superman.

" **Dirk S Nighy**

• **DkSeedisNigh**

• _TheRealLexLuthor Told you the end times were nigh and you didn't believe me. Now a man is flying #thesupermanexists_

6:24AM- 16 Jul 2016

* * *

 **G Gordon Godfrey**

• **TheRealGGGodfrey**

 _The world is on fire. People are flying. Shooting fire from their eyes. It's official: the rapture is coming. We'll all be judged. #thesupermanexists #jesus_

6:29AM- 16 Jul 2016

* * *

 **Jim Bradester**

• **AwShietBradee**

 _Superheroes are real now. Gonna be top bants. #thesupermanexists_

6:36AM- 16 Jul 2016

* * *

 **The Daily Planet**

• **DailyPlanetNews**

 _Anonymous superhero stops plane crash in Metropolis. #thesupermanexists_

6:03AM- 16 Jul 2016

* * *

 **Leah Moore**

• **LeahMoore**

 _Dad's response to superhero stopping plane crash and in the process hundreds of lives: it's all bullshit isn't it? #thesupermanexists #shitdadssay_

7:05AM- 16 Jul 2016

* * *

 **Maxwell Lord**

• **MaxLord**

 _So glad that so many people got to keep their lives today and owe a great debt to the hero who made it happen #thesupermanexists_

7:06AM- 16 Jul 2016 _"_

Luthor's dark eyes painfully lifted themselves up from his touchscreen and onto the Metropolis skyline. The sky had turned into a rich, sparkling gold as the sun awakened and began to climb out of its own slumber. It was all so clear. Beautiful Too clear. Too beautiful. _There should be fire. There should be brimstone. There should be ash. There should be chaos_ , the billionaire thought.

His eyes wandered down again, his thumb scrolling down a bit until reaching one tweet.

" **Jimmy Olsen**

• **JOlsenDailyPlanet**

• _PWhiteDailyPlanet •LLaneDailyPlanet I gots the shot. Behold: The Super-Man_ _#thesupermanexists_

7:08AM- 16 Jul 2016"

Below was the instantly iconic image of Metropolis's new Man of Steel stood like a Titan. His shoulders were lifted high, his chest a thick slab of stone with a massive red and yellow "S" shield stretched across it. His shirt was a filthy white, dots of ash and embers covering his shoulders and arms. Both sleeves were cut short to reveal his massive biceps, which looked stronger than the densest and most powerful of metals, veins popping out from beneath his thick skin. Protective climbing gloves coated his hands, scratched and worn on their what was only their first day on the job.

Luthor ignored all of these details, instead deciding to focus on his face. _That face._ He'd seen it before. The boyish features, that look in his unnaturally bright blue eyes, the obsidian black hair and that way his face moved when he was determined. It was the demon that visited him all those months ago. That damned flying demon. His own personal Mephistopheles.

For the first time in a long time, fear ran through Alexei Luthor's bones.

A loud, annoying beep sounded off from Luthor's iPhone, the screen becoming a blindingly bright white and then a cool, deep sea blue. Bright, hot pink text appeared on top of it, reading,

" _Just a minute, guys. Sorry for the inconvenience."_

It was signed off with a golden "S" below it, Luthor stared in confusion.

* * *

 **NUMBER ONE:**

 **#BANG**

 **A DC REDUX JOINT**

 **TYPED UP BY JOEY WEST**

* * *

 **Call Kal HQ • Southside, Metropolis**

"Alright, this is it… you cannot screw this up now."

"I know, Lana"

"No. You don't understand, you CANNOT screw this up, Clark. This is going live on every phone, every TV, every radio in the city. This would've been so much easier if we'd just pre-recorded it like I said."

"Well- the thing about recording it live is… yeah you were right. Boy, I'm really nervous."

"Oh god. I made you nervous. Don't be nervous. Nervous is bad. Nervous doesn't give us a good image. Nervous is scared little kid who doesn't know what to do with his superpowers."

"No. Don't you get nervous. You getting nervous is making me even more nervous."

"Shut up. We're almost ready." Pete Ross shouted from behind the "camera", the camera being an 118kg man of ambiguous age with a cybernetic eye called Cave Carson. He wore a straw cowboy hat, which was slightly worn and very dirty, a red and black plaid shirt and moderately torn jeans. Long, greasy ginger hair bled from under his hat, which lead to a badly kept beard which grew from his reddish, slightly wrinkled mouth. Above sat a regular looking nose and a regular looking left eye. His right, however, looked normal but for a noticeable red dot in the centre of the pupil which would be able to unsee you once you saw it. It was cybernetic. Nobody knew how he got it and nobody had ever asked. Nobody knew where it came from or how he lost his old eye. And nobody ever asked.

Because nobody knew who he was. Not Clark, not Lana, not Pete, not Krypto, not anyone. Not even you, the reader. You may have noticed that he wasn't in the last chapter and may want some explanation as to where he came from, how he joined up with the group, how he got a cybernetic eye which doubled as a camera… etc. I'm not telling you. I may not even know myself. Cave Carson has a cybernetic eye. Deal with it.

Anyway.

A USB cable was plugged into the side of Carson's head, which itself was connected to a MacBook, which, on its screen, showed Kal-El of Krypton standing in front of his new office, which Lana had neatly laid out a day earlier in preparation for this moment. Cheap lighting which looked semi-professional was hidden off-screen, beyond the sight of the camera in Cave Carson's eye. Pete laughed, "It works. It actually works. Aight, Cave's eye-camera is now ready to broadcast on every smartphone in Metropolis."

"Toldja." Cave hollered. "Let's do this thing."

"How does he look?" Lana asked.

"Handsome." Cave jested, until Pete rudely interrupted.

"No. He's just trying to be "nice and cool Cave Carson". He looks like crap. Put on the makeup."

Lana quickly pulled out a box of makeup from her handbag, Clark knocking her hand away, "You're not putting that on me."

"Yes I am."

"No. You're not."

" _Yes._ I am."

"Lana."

"Clark."

"Not to freak anyone out but you guys do realise we've held every phone in the city hostage for over two minutes now, right?" Cave cut in.

"Crap." Lana jumps out of the way of the camera, "Alright. Don't screw this up."

"I'm not gonna mess it up!" Clark whined, his voice then lowering as he began to prepare, "Okay then… uh… let's go."

"Alright. Alright. Alright." Cave remarked, pressing the enter button on the MacBook. "Broadcast begins in 3. 2. 1."

* * *

 **11PM • LAST NIGHT**

 **Lucky House Chinese Restaurant • Southside, Metropolis**

"Thanks." Clark Kent, dressed in a red zip-up hoodie, an ironed white T-shirt, a tie and his signature pair of glasses graciously spoke as he grabbed a big full of delicious Chinese food from the second-best place in Southside from across a tall, marble counter.

"Enjoy." The raven-haired girl behind the counter smiled, Clark smiling back and dopily looking into her eyes for a moment, his closest friend (and usual straight man) having to snatch the bag from his hand and quickly respond to her.

"We will." Pete broke in, tugging on Clark's tie, almost dragging his friend out of the Restaurant.

"Have a nice evening!" The boy who fell to Earth quickly blurted out as he was pulled out into the freezing cold of Metropolis's night.

They had been working to make a difference here for a few months now but still were struck by the place every time they stepped their foot out of the door. It was smoggy, it was messy, it was grimy and it was dirty but it had a kind of charm within it that the group couldn't place. In a way, it reminded them of Smallville. Everybody knew everybody, and despite the poverty and excruciatingly high crime rate, it felt oddly friendly. People of all shapes and sizes greeted Pete on his way back to his apartment, the red and yellow "S" he wore on his chest having become a kind of bulletproof vest in Southside, some were alcoholics, some were drug users, some were gang members and some had done unspeakable things but they all acknowledged that the people at Call Kal were just trying to help out, which is why they had become off-limits due to unofficial street rule. And everybody knew Clark Kent was the only reporter who had the guts to live in and write about what was really going on in Southside (against his editor's wishes, I might add), so they had a great deal of respect for him too.

The two friends walked in relative silence until Pete's head cocked up in delayed confusion just as they reached the old, abandoned Southside Train Station, turning to his old friend and asking, "So why were you making gooey eyes at Cho?"

"...am I not allowed to do that?"

"I thought you and Lana were playing the "on-again, off-again", "will they, won't they" kinda game."

"It hasn't been that way for a real long time."

"Nah, really?"

"Not since like before we left Smallville." Clark said as he leant down to put a dollar in a sleeping homeless man's cup. "You seriously hadn't noticed?"

"So what the hell was the flirting and the play fighting and the hugging when you were doing the dishes last night?"

"Urm… just some friendly hugging, Pete."

"She tore your shirt off."

"Yeah. As a joke. We're a trio of 20-somethings living in an apartment on a wacky adventure to save Metropolis, we pull pranks on each other. We weren't exactly going to do anything while you were sitting right over there- -" Clark pointed to a random direction. "- -in the apartment, were we?"

"Do you do the nasty when I'm not home?"

"What!? No! Gee, Pete, what do you think we are, animals!?" Clark paused for a second. "Can we not talk about this, please? Let's talk about something else."

"Alright. Why did we go to this place? Happy House is so much better." Pete whined.

"Because Happy House is really expensive."

"Because it's better."

"Well, not to tell you what to do with your life but maybe if you got a proper job, we'd have some more money to spend on stuff like take-out and movie tickets."

"So I'm supposed to manage our "non-profit organisation" AND get a job on the side?"

"That's what me and Lana are doing… and Cave, I think. Though I have no idea where he gets his money from." Clark lost focus but bounced back again. "It's the whole reason why I have this secret identity thing."

"Yeah and I still don't know why you don't wear a mask." Pete continued, "And don't start with the whole "hero with a face" thing, you've told me that about a billion times."

"I'm waiting for a 'but'."

"But people just mistake you for the other dude all the time. I'm pretty sure a few of these guys catcalling us are doing it right now."

"And you know what I say to them?"

"What?"

"I tell em that I'm not the other dude." Clark explained, "And then we usually have ourselves a nice conversation about how Kal and I could be long-lost twins or whatever, and then we just move on with our lives."

"Alright, it'd be one thing if Clark Kent and Kal-El had completely separate lives but Clark Kent and Kal-El also hang out with the exact same people." Pete continued to argue, "I mean. Come on."

"Hey. It's just… it's worked so far, alright? Somehow. I say we just run with it."

Pete stopped, "That's not an argument." Clark's face scrunched up a bit, trying to think of something to say but he's cut off by his friend before he can even begin, "Hey. What's going on…?"

A stampede of police cars and ambulances sped in their direction and began to circle around the block. An African-American police officer with a pencil thin moustache jogged over to them, Clark beginning to notice other police officers knocking on doors and heading into the train station, rounding everyone up and leading them out. The officer spoke, "Excuse me, we're going to need you to come with us into one of these ambulances."

"Uh. Of course. Could you tell us why?" Clark asked nicely.

"Um. Yeah. Why?" Pete asked in a less than nice manner.

The officer sighed, "Look. All we've been told is that some rich kid has gone crazy and has decided going to kamikaze his private jet into the station. We're doing our best to evacuate the area. Now please, would you head over to one of those ambulances? They'll take you safely away."

Pete began to walk, Clark stopping and staring into the sky, watching the blood red and sterile white lights of the jet edge closer and closer, becoming slightly larger and brighter. He then looked around at the people being rushed out of their homes, the passers by on the street being courted off to safety and the legion of homeless men and women being slowly hoarded out of the train station. All of these people were either going to lose their homes or even their lives and that made Clark furious. He removed his red hoodie and handed it to Pete, as well as the contents of his pockets which included his phone, his keys, and his wallet. He also pulled a pair of climbing gloves from his back pocket and puts them on. "Hold these for me."

"Cl- Kal. What are you doing?"

"Something that may or may not work out… but I have to try. They're not going to make it in time. I gotta do something." Clark's tone became more serious, his shoulders broadened, his chest becoming larger. "Alright. Do me a favour. Update the Daily Star Twitter page, I'm not having the Planet beat us to _this_ story… uh… make sure Lana and Cave are safe and… uh… try not to throw up."

He tore his shirt open and threw it onto the floor, revealing a white T-shirt with his now-signature _Southside_ or _Smallville_ "S" printed onto it. "Alright."

"You're not thinking of-" Mid-sentence, Clark zipped away, grabbing everyone who was in danger of being hit by the plane two-at-a-time and utilising his super-speed to evacuate the area faster than an entire army of police officers and ambulances ever could. It took about two minutes to get everyone, a blurry red-white light-show effect being created as he ran as fast as he could to get everyone out as a precautionary measure. Just in case he failed. Lastly, he grabbed Pete by the chest, taking less than a second to drop him off with the rest of the people he had evacuated a few blocks away. Pete instantly started to gag. Clark returned his spot, right outside of the train station, looking back up.

Using his enhanced vision, his eyes zoomed far into the sky, confronting the mean face of the airplane. He grimaced at it in determination, his feet pressing deep into the crackling tarmac below the soles of his shoes and then launching him into the air at 800 miles per hour, his body clashing, contorting and wrapping itself around the nose of the private jet just a moment after launch.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. He tried to breathe and calm himself down. His heart was going faster than it ever had, wind and small particles at dust cutting at his skin and his clothes like an army of razors. Both of his eyes were locked shut, Clark having to muster up the courage to open his left to see how many people were inside the jet. Only three. _Thank God_ , he thought. Only three.

Digging the tips of his fingers into the hull, he dragged his body up, fighting against the air and wind, to the side of the jet, looking down to see how close it was to the ground. He breathed a sigh of relief. _Still got time._ Once there, with his thumb, he pushed himself back a bit, almost losing balance and sliding off, and then pulled his weight in to crash his shoulder through the walls and into the cabin of the vehicle, being thrust forward and grabbing a chair so he could stand. Two of the passengers laid pressed against the door which lead to the cockpit, one trying to attack the other but being hindered by the air pressure. He took another breath, letting go of his balance and allowing himself to fall and grab the two men, break through the door, pull the pilot into his arms and smash straight through the nose of the plane. In mid-air, he swiftly turned all three of them over, allowing his back to take the damage and the shock from the harsh landing, saving the lives of all three men.

A rush of pain spread up into his spine as he laid in the crater he created, his teeth grit. All three of the men stared down at him, perplexed that they and their saviour all survived. He climbed up to his feet, which was no easy feat, but he managed. Looking up into the sky, the jet's mean face was dangerously close. He didn't have the strength nor time to fly back up and attempt to catch it or reroute it. _Okay. This is either genius or really, really darn stupid._

A literal fire brewed in his eyes, a blurry line of heat beginning to launch into the sky, hitting the nose of the plane. _No. I need more heat. Come on!_ He clenched his fists. _Come on!_ Blood began to pour from his nose. _Come on!_ His feet broke into and buried themselves in the ground. _Come on!_ A righteous fury built inside and burst from within him, consuming him. Every face he'd ever seen in Southside echoed throughout his head and didn't relent. The thought of any them either dead or hurt made his fingernails bury themselves in his palms, drawing his own blood. For the first time, Clark Kent knew what rage was. For the first time in his life, Clark Kent saw red. "COME. ON!"

 **KA-BOOM!**

A pure white flash.

 **KA-BLOOM!**

The jet stopped in mid-air.

 **BANG!**

 **BANG!**

Grey and white ash fell from the sky like snowflakes, Clark wiping the blood from his nose as he smiled. _And the day… is saved._

* * *

 **11AM, A Friday in July**

 **1929 Feet Above Ground**

 **Lex Luthor's Penthouse • LexCorp Tower, Metropolis**

Lex intensely glared down at his phone as the once blue screen turned to a solid black and then to a live broadcast. The flying demon which visited Luthor all those months ago stood there in the centre of the frame, smiling with the utmost sincerity. He wore a blue T-shirt with an S-shield printed onto it, a silver pendant hanging around his neck and going down under the shirt. He stood in front of an office, which was neatly tidied but obviously very cheap. He spoke with a southern twang in his voice. "We are so sorry for the inconvenience. We'll make this quick. Alright. Hi. I'm Kal-El of Krypton, I'm a superpowered alien from outer space and you probably saw a lot of me in the news last night. When I was a child, me and my puppy, Krypto- -"

"My puppy and I." Lex muttered under his breath. "Moron."

"- -were sent to this planet following the destruction of our own… where a kindly couple, found us and raised us as their own. And now, I've decided to give back to the people that took me in with open arms by setting up a superhero hotline. If the chips are down, if you're at the end of your rope and if you need someone to count on, we'll be there. If you see a wrong that needs to be righted, send us a voicemail, a video message, or hit us up on social media. You're not in this alone, take a stand with us and Call Kal at- -"

Lex let out a blood-curdling scream, smacking Harmony off of his shoulders and throwing his mobile phone through the 15-foot-window.

"GET OUT!"

* * *

 **12PM**

 **Call Kal HQ • Southside, Metropolis**

Pete, Kal and Cave all sat in a circle around Lana, who leant against Kal's desk. She read off from a list on her Android. "Okay. So. Pete you know you've got to meet Mrs. Schneider in like 5 minutes, right?"

"Yeah. It's only like a two minute walk from here."

"Alright. Clark. Kal. Sorry. Gotta get used to that. You've gotta find the mayor's dog, which shouldn't take long cause you'll be taking Krypto with you."

"Did he send a picture?"

"I'll ask for that. Cave. You're on receptionist duty for the day."

"Alright. Alright. Alright."

"...and I've gotta go fix Mr. Jones's engine. Engineering for the win..." She looked up from her phone. "...and we all gotta be back by 2 though because we have that interview with Miss Lane from the Planet at quarter-past."

"Noted." Kal said. "I've got no assignments from the Star so I'll be available all day after the interview thing."

"Sweet." Lana spoke. "I've gotta be at work for 6 but before then, I'll be free."

"I…" Pete attempted to break into the conversation.

"You don't have a job, Pete." Lana cut in. "We know you're available all day."

"Mhm."

"Then I'll keep you all posted if anything comes up." Cave spoke.

"Well, alright then."

* * *

 **1PM**

 **Castle Gardens • Northern Metropolis**

A snowy white labrador with a bright, bombastic red collar turned to bark at his master, the new Super-Man of Metropolis, Kal-El of Krypton, or Clark Kent, as the dog knew him. Next to him sat a slightly confused looking chihuahua, who became even more disoriented after spotting the floating man who descended towards her. "Good boy, Krypto." Kal turned to the chihuahua, "Hey, Precious. How about we take you home?"

He then paused and looked into the distance, checking on something, perhaps _someone_ , he looked at his watch and muttered under his breath, "I got time."

 **Rog's Hair Place • Suicide Slum, Metropolis**

With a ding-a-ling of the bell, Kal-El of Krypton burst through the door of Roger Slevitch's barbershop with a chihuahua in one hand and his Kryptonian companion dog in tow. He looked down on Alexei Luthor, who sat on a luxury leather chair while his face was being shaved, with nothing but contempt in his eyes. Cassie Andrews, who had only recently mustered up the courage to go back to work, stepped out from the back room with a look of worry on her scarred face. Kal smiled at her before looking back down at Lex, snarling. Krypto, the Superdog, began to growl. Precious, the mayor's chihuahua, let off a high-pitched bark.

Kal spoke, "Think it's time we had ourselves a talk, Alexei."

* * *

 **TBC.**

 **Stay tuned for more chapters in this series. While you're at it, check out some of the other Wave I DC Redux titles in this bold new shared universe, which include: Batman: Beyond Gotham by Ivan Krolo, Green Lantern: The Book of Oa by Bodhi Ouellette, The Flash: Incandescent Legacy by James Brady and Green Arrow: KIA by George Jones.**

 **Also be sure to check out some of the NEW Wave II DC Redux titles coming out, such as, Catwoman: Valentina by Bodhi Ouellette, the anthology title, DC Redux Showcase Presents by various authors and Wonder Woman: Young Americans, also by Joey West.**


	3. Boom (2)

**Rog's Hair Place • Suicide Slum, Metropolis**

The nauseatingly strong scent of disinfectant hit Kal-El of Krypton first as he entered the dragon's den (or at least the place where the dragon went to trim his hair). The whole room had that old, familiar, artificial smell which emanated from the open jars of hair dye, gel and wax and paraded into one's nose like a flash mob. Offsetting this essence was the calming and sweet aroma of wet dog, which went directly up into Kal's nose as he handled the mayor of Metropolis's soaking wet chihuahua with one hand and his own snowy white alien labrador's lead with the other.

Across the room sat Alexei Luthor, billionaire celebrity, whose face was half-covered with shaving cream. His eyes flicked themselves over to Kal-El, a certain suppressed worry building within their pupils. His hands moved about under the sheet that his barber had wrapped around his neck, Luthor trying to remember what he had rehearsed in front of the mirror before deciding to do this stunt. His heart was racing but that didn't much bother him, as long as it wasn't visible that he was scared about how things might turn out, Luthor was positive that he'd succeed in his mission to do whatever it was he wanted to do here. Above him stood Roger Slevitch, who had been cutting his hair since before he can remember, who slightly flinched as Metropolis's new Man of Steel headed over to the two of them.

Metropolis's new Super-Man took a seat next to his new nemesis, nicely commanding the two dogs to sit in the corner and politely asking Cassie Andrews, an old friend of his who was already petrified by her ex-boyfriend's sudden appearance, to give him a trim. Her scarred face brightened up as she wiped her tears from her cheeks and headed over to him, wrapping a black sheet around his neck. El spoke, "I've been watching this place for quite a while, Lex. Waiting for you to show up. If you have any sense, you're going to leave right now."

"What are you going to do? Force me, _farmboy_?"

"How do you- -?" Clark freezes. _Darn it. He knows. Pete was right. Darn glasses._ "How did you find out?"

"Find out what? How did I pick up on that obvious southern twang in your voice?" Kal quickly breathed a sigh of relief. _False alarm._ Lex continued, "And your… body. You haven't been working on the glamour muscles… or perhaps not even _working_ for it at all. You've been living your entire life doing manual labour… _chores…_ whatever. It's cute, really."

"Well. Impressive. You know, I found out a few things about you in the last couple of days."

"Oh. Really? From who?"

"A good friend of yours called _Rudy Jones_."

"That nut who tried to crash his private jet in the heart of Suicide Slum?" Lex sarcastically remarked, "I doubt he'd have anything credible to say."

"Turns out you blackmailed his pilot… threatened his family… and made him try to crash the plane. Why?"

"In this _hypothetical_ situation of which I'm guilty of all you have accused me of, Rudy was, simply put, starting to grate on my nerves _and_ the train station, as you've probably seen, has become a _cesspool_ of _criminals_ and _junkies_. So. _Hypothetically_. I would've been trying to knock two birds out with one stone."

"Needless to say, you'll be hearing from the police."

"The police aren't going to listen to you, you _know_ that." Lex continued, "And even if they did, do you have _any_ evidence against me? Any _witnesses_?"

"Yeah. Three, actually."

"Tonight, George Alyn and Tim Newburn will come forward and tell the world the _truth_ about Rudy Jones. How he had been feeling _depressed_. How he'd not been his normal self. How they had seen it coming. How he overpowered them and how he tried to kamikaze his jet into the heart of the town he grew up in." Lex paused as Roger finished up on his face and removed the sheet from around his neck. "It's all a big tragedy."

Kal chuckled for a moment, Lex giving him a knowing smile, causing the Kryptonian's smugness to fade. Leaping out of his chair, Luthor turned and grabbed Cassie, throwing her onto the floor and stealing her mobile phone from her pocket. Kal stood, his eyes growing redder and redder, his fist in the air. "I know you told her to record every conversation she had with me. God, kid, do you think I'm stupid enough to share this information with you and not cover my own ass?"

"Away from her, now."

Luthor drew himself away, putting his arms up, the mobile phone still in his left hand. He dropped it, lifting his left foot and smashing it to pieces with his heel. "You know this little game of ours? There's _no way_ you're going to win."

"Game? You think this is a _game_? Playing with _human lives_ is a game!?"

"Look, kid, if I were actually playing _serious_ with you- - you, your little hick friends down at the "Naive Millennials Foundation", Cassie here and the entirety of this damn place would have _all_ been blown to kingdom come by now. In fact, they almost _were_. But I _like_ what we've got going here. Just to humour myself… I think I might just keep _playing_ along." Lex said through a painfully forced smile, "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go. Big meeting."

As Luthor began to walk out, Krypto let out a bark, the billionaire almost jumping out of his skin. Trying to brush the embarrassment off, he rushed over to the door, Kal stopping him. " _Lex_." He said. "You _know_ I could hear your heartbeat throughout the entirety of that big speech you just gave me, right? And you know what it's _telling_ me? You're talking complete _bull_. You're _scared_ as all hell right now. And you know why _that_ is? It's because you… deep down… you _know_ what would happen if I were playing serious with YOU."

Alexei Luthor slipped through the doorway with nothing to say, Cassie smiling as she lifted herself up and wrapped her hands around Kal's shoulders from behind. "Thanks for showing." She pulled the black sheet from around his neck and cleared a few excess hairs from his forehead. "All done. You showed him, huh?"

"Yeah. But I implied I that was gonna incinerate him." Kal-El of Krypton spoke back, "Kinda feel bad about that."

"He doesn't _deserve_ your pity."

"Probably not."

"Definitely not." She cut him off as she hugged him. "Thank you so much, Clark."

"It's just my job… one of two, actually. Speaking of, when I'm- - not wearing glasses- - could you call me Kal instead?"

"Uh. Sure. Why?"

"I- - uh- - I got a secret identity now."

"The glasses are supposed to hide your- -?"

"Yeah. I know, it's _completely_ ridiculous."

"Nah. You do you, I guess."

"Yeah. I'll do me."

"Uh. My lunch break starts like now… want to go get a coffee?"

"Coffee? Coffee sounds good." Clark turned to the corner, the two dogs sniffing each other's rear ends. "You know any coffee places that allow dogs on the premises?"

"We'll find one."

Kal clapped his hands, Krypto standing and Precious trodding over to him. Opening the door for Cassie, he was greeted by the peculiar sight of a long, green tunnel staring right at the both of them. _What?_ Clark asked himself. His eyes followed the massive green tube until they reach the end of it, _Is that… is that a tank?_

"FIRE!"

It was, in fact, a tank.

* * *

 **NUMBER TWO:**

 **#BOOM**

 **A DC REDUX JOINT**

 **TYPED UP BY JOEY WEST**

* * *

Cassie Andrews tightened her eyelids and clamped them down, and after a few moments in the dark she felt the sudden need to vomit. The explosions seemed quieter than they did before. In her arms, she felt something move, something warm and fuzzy. Opening her eyes, she recognised it, the chihuahua Kal had brought in earlier. She turned, finding that she was across the street from an epic action set piece from a superhero movie. Metropolis's Super-Man turned around and smiled at her from a distance as he lifted an armoured car up over his head and tipped it over, he remarked, _thank god for super-speed_.

In the moment it took for him to drop the vehicle a safe distance from any innocent bystanders, he had decided to survey his surroundings. _Alrighty then. Five armoured cars. One tank. Fourteen soldiers. Two are already down for the count. Shouldn't be too hard,_ he hoped.

In this distraction, he did not notice the heat seeking missile barrelling through the air towards him. His right hand managed to block the explosion but he was still sent flying onto his back and into a nearby car. A rough haze came upon him until something warm, wet and sloppy began to run across his face. And then a bark was heard. Krypto's white fur brushed against his limp, sleepy arm as the superdog stepped over it. _Oh. Yeah. Of course._ Groaning, Kal-El of Krypton struggled to his feet, laughing and smiling. "Krypto." He coughed. "Go get em."

"Rrr." The dog growled, almost as if he were answering his master's call for help. A couple of soldiers began to chuckle and laugh, their moment of levity being cut short by the sight of the dog lifting itself up into the air and floating above them, his eyes turning into a bright red. Like a bullet-shell, Krypto fired himself into the barrel of the tank, tearing the vehicle in half, grabbing two soldiers by their necks, dragging them out of the machine and dropping them face-first onto the hard concrete below. He then circled back, flying into the wreck of the metallic mess of a war machine and knocking the two remaining soldiers within out cold by head-butting them.

As Kal recovered, he was attacked by a soldier with a rather long beard and a rather big stick. _Huh?_

SMACK!

CRUNCH!

It, naturally, broke against his head.

 _Well. Ouch._

He flicked the man away.

 _Alright._ He thought as he noticed another armoured car heading towards him, a man atop the vehicle firing at him from a turret. At over 900 miles-per-hour, a fleet of bullets at a time clashed against his chest and abdomen, tearing his shirt off from his skin. _See, Lana?_ _That's why we bought spares._

His arms swung backwards and then forwards into a massive clap, which created an equally as massive sound wave which ripped what was left of his shirt away and into the front of the armoured car. _Always wanted to try that out._

Trying to catch his breath, the Man of Steel slumped over, looking up to count the remaining men. _Five more. 3 cars._ Filling his lungs with air, he concentrated for a moment until leaping into the air and throwing his weight down into the engine of one armoured automobile, completely trashing it. Before his master had even thought of calling him, Krypto had already arrived and shot through both windows of the vehicle, knocking both men inside out cold.

The dog zipped around the air for about two seconds until beginning to float next to Kal, who clenched his fists and watched both of the remaining cars charge at him and his dog. "Okay. Alright. Erm. Plan. Need a plan. Alright. I take one- you take the other." He spoke to his companion, whose eyes gave his master a look of confusion. "Of course. What the heck am I doing?" He pointed at Krypto and then one of the armoured cars, and then himself and the other car. His pet gave a growl which hopefully meant that he understood and then charged towards one of the cars, while Clark began to launch himself at the other. A sonic boom crackled through the street, the two breaking the sound barrier and, together, moving just under the speed of light.

"AAAAAAAA!"

Krypto barked.

"AAAAAAAAA!"

Krypto barked louder.

* * *

 **2PM**

 **Call Kal HQ • Southside, Metropolis**

In the blistering, boiling heat of a Metropolis summer, Pete Ross stood, sweating like a pig and panting like a dog. Both hands rested horizontally on his forehead, desperately trying to shield his eyes from the impossibly bright white sun to no avail. A waterfall of perspiration ran from his hair and down the tip of his nose, a drop releasing from a ball of liquid building on his nose every few seconds.

He was there waiting. Searching for a friend. A friend who happened to be almost late to a very important meeting. He would go inside but another friend, Cave, was having a hard time fixing the fan they had bought and broken a couple of days ago. If the heat was bad outside, it'd be even worse in there. Lana Lang called from inside, "Can you see him!?"

"Nope. Can't see him."

"What!?"

"Said I can't see him."

"Can't hear you, come inside!"

"Hell no."

"What!?"

"Ugh." He groaned, opening the door and slowly walking back into what he expected to feel like the burning centre of the sun. However, what he ended up feeling was a cool, refreshing and much-welcomed breeze. "Seriously? You could have told me that you fixed the fan."

"Sorry. But did you see him?"

"I said "no" like twice."

"No you didn't." Lana bounced back. "He didn't, did he, Cave?"

"Erm. Actually I heard him." Cave smiled, trying not to upset Lana.

Lang screeched, "God! He's gonna be late for his first interview!"

"Technically not his first."

"No. This isn't Clark Kent pretending to talk to Kal-El for the Daily Star! This is real! A good reporter for a good newspaper is going to pry as much information as she can from him and… and- tear him a new one! I know it!"

"Look. Just calm down."

"No! I can't calm down!"

"Cave, tell her to calm down."

"Lana, could'ya chill?" Cave politely asked.

Lana began to calm, "Yeah. Okay."

"You chilled?" Cave asked again.

"Yeah, I'm chill."

"By the way, I'm telling Clark that you said he's not a good reporter." Pete cut in.

"I didn't say that!" Both Pete and Lana broke into argument while Cave sat, feeling slightly uncomfortable and out-of-place. As they did, somebody poked their head through the door, somebody who's face none of them recognised, she mouthed, "Is this a bad time?" to Cave, who smiled, shook his head, signed her to come in and cleared his throat at the two growling animals.

"WHAT!?" Lana and Pete yelled, almost in unison.

"Reporter's here."

"Oh." They both whispered in unison. One after the other, they turned their heads to Lois Lane, ace reporter for the Daily Planet. Her piercing eyes were a bright, verdant green, stabbing into the two and creating an awkward and uncomfortable atmosphere in the room. She gave the two an honest but somehow, at the same time, condescending smile, which added to the feeling of smallness her impossible height already gave the gang. "Miss Lane, is it?"

"Yep. And whoever said Clark Kent is a bad reporter, I agree with them."

Lana scurried over, "Uh. Speaking of. When you called us up I have to admit, I was kinda confused seeing as Mr. Kent already conducted an interview…"

"Yes. I read that. Seemed a bit- - I don't know- - artificial, maybe?"

"Artificial?"

"Yeah."

"Huh."

"So where's the big guy?"

"Sorry. He's running a little late."

"That's fine. I'm running a little early."

Pete begins, "Uh. Please. Take a seat."

"Thanks." She sits, pulling out her iPhone and tapping her fingers against it as she typed away, writing an article in a Google Document. As she did so, a storm of rage, frustration and madness burst through the door. It was Kal-El of Krypton with Krypto following in behind him. Stripped down to his denim jeans and nothing else (which it could be argued had been turned into shorts), the boy who fell to Earth felt a rush of embarrassment and anger as he detected the held-back laughter of his best friend, Pete Ross, with his enhanced hearing. Lana rushed over to him, pulling out a towel and placing it in his hands.

"Kal. What the hell happened!?" Lana asked, "Did- -?"

"It was- - it was Luthor, I think. There was this… this militia, they jumped me and- -" Clark stopped, noticing Lois's face in the corner of the room. Gobsmacked, he dropped the towel Lana had given to him and turned his attention entirely to the Daily Planet's ace reporter, "You?"

"Yep. Me."

" _You're_ Lois Lane?"

"Yes."

"Aw crap."

* * *

 **TBC.**

 **Stay tuned for more chapters in this series. While you're at it, check out some of the other Wave I DC Redux titles in this bold new shared universe, which include: Batman: Beyond Gotham by Ivan Krolo, Green Lantern: The Book of Oa by Bodhi Ouellette, The Flash: Incandescent Legacy by James Brady and Green Arrow: KIA by George Jones.**

 **Also be sure to check out some of the NEW Wave II DC Redux titles coming out, such as, Catwoman: Valentina by Bodhi Ouellette, the anthology title, DC Redux Showcase Presents by various authors and Wonder Woman: Young Americans, also by Joey West.**


	4. BFF (3)

**The 162nd Floor • LexCorp Tower, Metropolis**

An aromatic mixture of strong, overpriced, designer labelled perfumes and aftershaves hovered over the centre room of the one-hundred-and-sixty-second floor of LexCorp Tower, Alexei Luthor's home/place-of-work/headquarters, as a cabal of Metropolis' most prized sons and daughters sat, scattered around a round table (Luthor having insisted that it be of this particular shape). Bright studio lights surrounded the group of the city's elite, clouding the facial imperfections that the heavy makeup that most in the room are wearing could not hide and making them as photogenic as possible. A selection of different wines, brews, scotches and sodas stood, covering the circumference of the dalbergia table, Alexei having made sure that coasters were laid beneath them to protect the expensive wood.

Luthor stood above the rest of the cabal, his fingertips pressed against the table as he leant over it. A snide smile grew on his face as his eyes danced and pranced their way across each and every member of his own personal knights of the round table:

* * *

 **Uno.**

 _Barbara "The Cheetah" Minerva_

 _ **Age:**_ _20_

 _ **Hair:**_ _Ginger_

 _ **Eyes:**_ _Green_

 _ **80.3M**_ _Twitter followers_

 _ **Who?:**_ _Metropolis's favourite pop princess/socialite/occasional actress._

 _ **Fun Fact:**_ _Claims to have broken the heart of every man she has ever met._

 _ **Funner Fact:**_ _Has actually broken the hearts of about five of the men she has met._

* * *

 **Dos.**

 _Maxwell "The Pusher" Lord IV_

 _ **Age**_ _: 29_

 _ **Hair**_ _: Brown_

 _ **Eyes**_ _: Brown_

 _ **14.7M**_ _Twitter followers_

 _ **Who?:**_ _The headstrong CEO of Lord_ _Consolidated/Reality TV Star._

 _ **Fun Fact:**_ _As apple pips contain potassium cyanide, eating 30 apple cores could be enough to give you cyanide poisoning._

 _ **Funner Fact:**_ _He once tried to kill a man by convincing him to eat 35 apple cores._

* * *

 **Tre.**

 _Veronica "Ice Queen" Cale_

 _ **Age:**_ _26_

 _ **Hair:**_ _Blonde_

 _ **Eyes:**_ _Blue_

 _ **8.26M**_ _Twitter followers_

 _ **Who?:**_ _A hardened, self made entrepreneur/occasional politician._

 _ **Fun Fact:**_ _She is a horrible, horrible, horrible person._

 _ **Funner Fact:**_ _She once had a man skinned alive after making a pass at her assistant, and then had her assistant skinned alive for having a problem with that. Believe me now?_

* * *

 **...y...**

 **Cuatro.**

 _G Gordon "The Old Man" Godfrey_

 _ **Age:**_ _65_

 _ **Hair:**_ _Ginger_

 _ **Eyes:**_ _Blue_

 _ **10.8M**_ _Twitter followers_

 _ **Who?:**_ _Political commentator. Here for the approval of conservative OAPs. Lex Luthor's secret weapon._

 _ **Fun Fact:**_ _He once had a senior moment where he broke down and told everybody that he was working for space-devil._

 _ **Funner Fact:**_ _He may actually be working for space-devil._

 **...y hecho?**

* * *

Lex leaned closer into their faces, beginning to chuckle. "I told you so." The rest of the room let out a collective groan, "I told you I was right. I told you about the monster but you didn't listen… did you-?"

"You're never going to let this go, are you, Lex?" Max asked before turning to the rest of the group, "He's never going to shut up about this."

"-Not to worry, though. I've had countermeasures put in place. I've been planning for his arrival all this time. I've-"

"Yeah. We know." Barbara cut in. "You've pulling everything in. Moving everything around, all of our money, our resources…"

" _Wasted_ half of my private army." Veronica Cale scowled, slamming her hand against the table, Luthor flinching at the very idea of somebody damaging his favourite piece of furniture, "And they didn't even put a dent in him, did they?"

"They will."

"Ugh." Cale groaned, turning to the rest of the Cabal, "Anyone fed up of his vague teasers? If you've got a plan, just tell us, don't give us a half-assed, two-word answer."

"She has a point." Lord agreed, "You do it _all_ the time."

"Okay. Would you lot shut up?" Lex went into a speech. "I'm talking about the _future_ of the _world_ , here. A man with God-like power who, if he wanted to, could end it all in a minute. No more human race. This is important stuff, ladies and gentlemen."

"But not important enough to spend your own money on?"

"Look-"

Beep.

A release of air is heard from the end of the corridor, both doors of the elevator loudly sliding open as someone went to step out. Footsteps began to sound off, growing louder and louder and faster and faster as they headed over to the Cabal's secret room. Through a gap in the red wallpaper, the wall opened, letting a bright turquoise light through past the silhouette of a man. A man named Rudy Jones:

* * *

 **Cinco?**

 _Rudy "The VP" Jones_

 _ **Age:**_ _24_

 _ **Hair:**_ _Blond_

 _ **Eyes:**_ _Blue_

 _ **1.7M**_ _Twitter followers_

 _ **Who?:**_ _He's really nobody all that important._

 _ **Fun Fact:**_ _Nickelback fan and proud._

 _ **Funner Fact:**_ _Nickelback fan and confused as to whether he should be open about that with people._

 **...Vale, hecho.**

* * *

Lex and Rudy had known each other for years, their friendship having gone way back to Middle School. When they were just two boys with nothing. Twenty years later, Jones stood with his finger on the trigger, the barrel of a glock pointed directly at his oldest friend's chest. Max stopped, silent in fear, while Cale coldly watched. Godfrey begins to rise from his seat and shout as Barbara commanded to her bodyguard, "Get this bastard out of here."

"No." Lex calmly uttered. "It's alright. Rudy."

"We were friends, Lex. Since we were kids. We built ourselves up from nothing. NOTHING! And this is how you treat me?" Rudy shouted from suppressed tears, "You were gonna have me die a nut? Make it look like a suicide!? After we worked so hard together to get here!?"

"Cut the bullshit, Jones. You did nothing. I built this company. I built this city. From the ground up. You just clung onto me as I rose from the filth. What do you do here, Rudy!? You take our money and you abuse it, our approval ratings plummet each and every time you pull a stupid publicity stunt. It was better just to have you out of the way."

"Oooooo." Barbara hollered.

"But. But… I'm glad you survived. It'll be much cheaper to experiment on you than to actually find a volunteer."

"What!?" Rudy squawked as Lex leapt onto the table like an action hero, sliding down past the cabal and pouncing at Jones, punching him out and snatching his gun.

Lex looked to Barbara's bodyguard, "Could you take him downstairs, please?"

"Just downstairs or _downstairs_?"

" _Downstairs_."

"Right on."

As Barbara's bodyguard dragged Rudy's limp, unconscious body down across the adjacent corridor and into the elevator, Lex turning to the man's employer, "I like him."

"Yeah. He's pretty good, isn't he?"

"Deserves a raise, that man."

* * *

 **Nuevo Cinco?**

 _Body "Bodyguard" Guard_

 _ **Age:**_ _30-40_

 _ **Hair:**_ _Black_

 _ **Eyes:**_ _Green_

 _Twitter_ _ **n/a**_

 _ **Who?:**_ _I don't even know._

 _ **Fun Fact:**_ _He just got here._

 _ **Funner Fact:**_ _He literally just got here._

* * *

 **NÚMERO TRES:**

 **#BFF**

 **UN JOINT DE DC REDUX**

 **ESCRITO POR JOEY WEST**

* * *

 **Call Kal HQ • Southside, Metropolis**

Three-quarters-of-the-way naked and covered in ash and dust, Clark Kent/Kal-El of Krypton rushed Lois Lane, ace reporter for the Daily Planet, into his office, using his super speed to practically glide back over to the door in less than a second and slam it shut. Lois turned, staring him down, from his bleeding pinkie toe up to his terrified, confused exhausted face. He scanned her too, though a little bit more than any regular human would or could be able to. A slight hint of cigarette smoke in her breath is maximised to become a thousand times more potent than it would be to a regular human nose, as is the subtle single spray of her semi-expensive perfume. His ears could not help but analyse and break down her heartbeat, of which he heard no spikes. _She's not scared,_ he thought. _Can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing._

They both shared a moment of silent analysis and reunion. This lasted for a good thirty seconds until Lois began to laugh, rolling her eyes and breaking the ice, "So. Clark. Kal… Which do you prefer?"

"What is it that you want, Miss Lane?" Kal bounced back, dodging the question, "Why is it that you're here?"

"Look. I know we got off on the wrong foot the last time we met." Lois put out her hand, "Let's start again. Lois Lane."

Clark hesitated, stepping back and then leaning back forward, "Clark Kent."

"AKA Kal-El."

"Yeah."

"Alright. Cool." Lois went on, "Clark. Look. I work for the Daily Planet. Perry White is the only honest editor in Metropolis. Me. Perry. The Planet. We're the kind of people you want on your side."

"What do you mean?"

"Luthor. Lord. Cale. All of these guys control every paper, blog, TV, radio station in the city except the Daily Planet. You need our help."

"They're _not_ going to control me."

" _Listen_. Some day, your editor's going to ask you to write something you don't want to write. Or slam or bury someone you don't want to. It'll probably be yourself seeing as you've got this weird little situation going on here. And on that day you're going to need someone honest on your side. You're going to need a friend."

"I'll be fine, Miss Lane."

"Look, the reason I was so short with you the last time we spoke is because you're not the first idealist with a mission to come to this city. I've seen people rise and fall where you stand. The only difference between you and them is that you have superpowers. And that might've helped if you hadn't brought your friends into his mess with you. So listen. On that bleak day… which I hope never happens… when the whole world is about to come crashing down on you, give us a call. There are still some good people in this city. People you can trust." Lois handed Clark her card.

* * *

 **TBC.**

 **Disculpas por el problema de corto!**

 **Stay tuned for more chapters in this series. While you're at it, check out some of the other Wave I DC Redux titles in this bold new shared universe, which include: Batman: Beyond Gotham by Ivan Krolo, Green Lantern: The Book of Oa by Bodhi Ouellette, The Flash: Incandescent Legacy by James Brady and Green Arrow: KIA by George Jones.**

 **Also be sure to check out some of the NEW Wave II DC Redux titles coming out, such as, Catwoman: Valentina by Bodhi Ouellette, the anthology title, DC Redux Showcase Presents by various authors and Wonder Woman: Young Americans, also by Joey West.**


	5. Christmas Future (Interlude)

**WARNING: If you are a cold, unfeeling Scrooge, you may not like this story.**

 **Because it's Christmas Special Time.**

* * *

 _ **This is set after the events of the first arc of Ivan Krolo's Batman: Beyond Gotham, "Now in Technicolor" (which you can go to the DC Redux fanfic page to read). While reading it is not wholly necessary to understand this story, it would enhance the experience.**_

* * *

Christmastime in Metropolis. Awe-inspiringly beautiful.

Christmastime in Smallville. Heartwarmingly old-fashioned.

Christmastime in Gotham. A massive improvement over what it once was.

Christmastime in Dongguan. Virtually nonexistent. And just the way Bruce Wayne, globe-trotting caped crusader from Gotham, liked it.

After his parents were brutally murdered in front of him, Bruce, as one naturally would, swore to make a world where what happened to him would never happen to anyone else. This, as it naturally would, involved abandoning every single one of his old, silly childish notions. These included such things as: gum staying in your stomach for seven years before being digested, the tooth fairy, the assumption that his parents could protect him from every single problem that would and could ever arise… and Santa Claus. Christmas as a whole, in fact. The fact that people would get together in the name of a God he didn't even think existed- that he was certain couldn't exist- forget about their problems, their debts, their troubles and pretend to be happy for a month disgusted him. He found it irrational. Stupid. Childish.

And so he worked towards his goal of becoming a superhero, which was the responsible thing to do. It was a step into maturity. Adult stuff. Serious business. And despite the fact that he hadn't any superpowers or unique abilities to speak of- it worked. He became a boogeyman. _The_ boogeyman. He became a billion thorns in the side of corruption. He became the reason why criminals were afraid to go outside after sunset. He became justice. He became the night. He became the Batman.

After cleansing Gotham City of the suffering that organised crime caused, the Batman set his sights on a larger target. The world. Now evil would truly have no hiding place.

But it had recently been a rough few weeks for the Dark Knight in his global battle against crime and corruption. All of a sudden, the planet had become bigger. A lot bigger. And weirder. And, though Bruce didn't like to admit it, scarier. It used to be simple. Muggers. Corrupt cops. Hired goons. Mob bosses. They were easy. There was always a madman here and there but he would _always_ find a way. The scary silhouette, the intimidating voice, the flash, the gadgets- it all used to be enough. But now?

After clashing with Nazi-brain-creatures, talking gorillas and rainbow dragons, Bruce didn't quite know his place in the world. He still wanted to help people, he knew that much, but he did not know what he could accomplish as a madman in a batsuit in a world of myths and monsters. He was only mortal.

He opted not to think about it. Just to do what he do what he decided to travel the world to do and get the job done. And the whole Christmas thing was just going to annoy him so it felt good to be in a city that did not force an insidiously capitalist message down his throat disguised as an altruistic one or place a ridiculously expensive and tall tree in the town hall.

Bruce came to China's Sin City to escape the phoney warmth and love in favour of good, honest consumerism. Drugs. Strippers. Alcohol. Maybe not the first two but in-between patrols, Wayne was drinking quite a lot. But he didn't care. He was there to enjoy himself. It was a vacation of sorts. So imagine his disappointment when his investigation into the terrorist group, the Order of St. Dumas, led to his uncovering of a plot to ruin Christmas in Metropolis.

He almost had them. It happened in an air-field off into the outskirts of the city. He had been experimenting with Zaytex Mask technology, something the geniuses over at WayneTech had been toying with, a machine that could create incredibly lifelike masks based on 3D scans of a face. Bruce had taken the identity of Wang Chin, a member of the Lau Dynasty, the crime syndicate who played the part of hosts to the Order of St. Dumas in China. He'd strolled onto the scene of the crime almost completely inconspicuously, weaving through Triad members and Christian Extremists alike with relative ease, and even coming face to face with the highest ranking member of the Lau Dynasty below Mr. Lau himself, Frank Chen, without the man noticing anything at all wrong about him.

Wang Chin was just a face in the crowd, with just enough pull to be allowed to take part in this very important task but not important enough to actually be integral to the mission. The Batman had him hanging upside-down in a cupboard somewhere with a pillowcase tied around his mouth. He'd planned to let him down eventually, once the Order's plan had been foiled, though it was unlikely that the Dark Knight had even remembered he'd left him there, or, at least that's what he would want you to believe.

The point was that the Caped Crusader had very little worry that the Laus would even notice that one of their men was not who he said he was. And the plan was going smoothly until the Order's extra security had arrived in the form of a hulking mass of black and red metal. Bruce had heard stories it, about their enforcer, their Angel of Death, their monster. Azrael.

The Batman (in disguise) was planting a remote explosive on a cargo-hold when Azrael authoritatively marched onto the airfield, pushing his underlings out of the way and scanning their souls with his piercing yellow eyes. When the time came for the Angel of Death to look into his, the monster didn't even bother to walk over and give itself a good look, instead, it just stood where it was and pointed at "Wang Chin", who looked up to find about half a dozen semi-automatic rifles pointed at him.

Bruce dropped the explosive, lifting himself up from his knees and placing his hands up into the air to show that he was unarmed. With his eyes, he followed the small cylindrical bomb he had dropped as it rolled along the asphalt, the commotion coming from the standoff having distracted the goons enough to the point where they hadn't noticed it fall. He waited for a while until it hit the foot of a triad member, the Batman triggering a pedal he had hidden in his shoe and setting the bomb off. Its volume and intensity far outreached its actual effect, the bomb was essentially harmless but it served as a great distraction, the barrels of the rifles once pointed at the Dark Knight turning to the scene of the bombing.

The Batman used this opportunity to press a button he'd hidden in the palm of his hand, which triggered a chemical reaction which caused his cheap hundred-dollar Dongguan-Fashion suit to inflate like a balloon, along with the fake-face of Wang Chin he wore over his own. The balloon suit then exploded with another disorienting bang, tricking the armed goons into thinking there had been another bombing. Beneath the tatters of what was left of the Batman's inflatable costume was a sleek, slimmed-down, deep-black variation on his iconic bat suit, a cape billowing out from his shoulders. Bruce Wayne reached back behind his neck, pulling a loose cowl over his head which tightened automatically due to some tinkering from Lucius Fox.

The Caped Crusader grinned.

Crack. Crack. Crack. The Batman slid across the perimeter of goons, breaking their faces with the speed and ferocity he had developed taking down similar thugs back home in Gotham. He grabbed the leg of his last opponent, lifting him up into the air, spinning him and then launching his carcass into a hard-steel cargo container. The Dark Knight was utterly unconcerned with the Laus' worms and the Order's pawns, he was looking forward to breaking down the monster at the end of the strip. He and Azrael glared at each other for a moment before the Angel of Death stepped down from the hangar of the airplane he stood in, throwing his tattered white robe onto the floor and challenging the Batman to engage him in combat.

The Batman answered his call by charging at him and, at the last minute, leaping into the air to make way for his speeding but silent motorcycle, which he had dubbed "the Bat-Pod", which he had intended to use to knock the Angel of Death down for him. With one hand, Azrael stopped the machine and threw it to his side, the Batman landing on his feet from his flip and staring at the metal monster in morbid amazement. Azrael smacked both hands against his own chest, then clenching his fists as he made his way over to the Batman.

The Dark Knight threw two of his batarangs at the monster, both having no effect on the almost supernatural creature that headed towards him. The Batman shot his grapnel gun at the angel's face, which shattered against the monster's mouthpiece. _Aw hell,_ he thought, throwing the now useless climbing-tool away. What else? What else could he use?

He waited until Azrael reached about-arm's-length, leaping over the monster's shoulder and reaching back to plant a sticky-explosive onto its face. He was about to reach a safe distance before the creature instinctively grabbed the Dark Knight's cape in mid-air and tugged him back onto the ground, the Batman having no choice but to detonate the bomb before he was clear of the explosion.

Everything went white.

Mostly blind and completely deaf, the Caped Crusader rolled across the dirty floor, his right leg in flames. He grinned through his pain, managing to put out the fire which had began to crawl across the lower-half of his body. Rolling onto his back, the Dark Knight looked up to find a gloved hand reaching down to him and planting its sharp metal fingers around his neck. He squirmed as he was lifted into the air, the explosive having seemingly done nothing to stop the Order of St. Dumas's Angel of Death. His eyes widened in terror, blood trickling from his nose and into his mouth. Staring into the face of death, he had no choice but to pull out the last resort.

 _The last resort… so soon_ , he thought.

His body swooned. His heart had stopped. He stopped breathing.

Azrael dropped him, casually walking past his seemingly dead body and into the airplane which had been waiting for him.

The last resort was a fast acting poison which would leave him in a state between life and death until Alfred brought him the antidote. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't speak, he couldn't move and he couldn't feel his heart beating in his chest.

The worst part of it was that he was still conscious.

As his hearing began to return, he heard the footsteps of his murderer, the chains he wore rustling around his waist and ringing like bells.

 _Jingle bells,_ Bruce Wayne thought, _Jingle… bells…_

 _Jingle bells, Batman smells…_

 _Jingle bells… jingle bells… Batman smells…_

 _Oh, the weather outside is frightful… and the fire is…so… so..._

 _Damn._

 _I'm dreaming of a white… Christmas… just like the ones I used to…_

 _And the boys of the GCPD choir were singing…_

 _They were singing… "Gotham Bay"..._

 _And the bells were ringing out for Christmas Day…_

 _And the bells were ringing out for Christmas Day..._

 _And the bells were ringing out for Christmas Day..._

* * *

 **DC REDUX PRESENTS**

 **21st CENTURY SUPER-MAN**

" **Christmas Future"**

 **A Jolly Old Tale**

 **Feat. BATMAN**

 **By Joey West**

* * *

 **ACT I:**

 **The Meeting.**

* * *

Clark Kent, AKA, Kal-El of Krypton, AKA the Super-Man of Metropolis, AKA Toots (as he was called by his adopted Grandmother), did not quite understand what he was doing.

He knew that he was fighting a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Well. A cyborg Tyrannosaurus Rex with laser eyes from the year 9001 which had hitched a ride on a time machine and ended up there, in that time, in 2016. He knew that he was fighting alongside time-travelling duo, Samson and Atlas, who had left it ambiguous as to whether they really WERE the legendary characters of which they took the names of. It was quite clear to him that he really knew everything he needed to know about the situation, but, despite that, he just felt completely perplexed and befuddled.

It wasn't like he hadn't ran into time-travellers before. He _hadn't_ ran into a robot dinosaur before but when one finds out they are an alien from the dead planet Krypton, their suspension of disbelief begins to expand to the point where such oddities seem possible. Maybe it was the urgency of the situation that left him with this feeling of confusion, after all, the time travelling duo had only knocked on his door half-an-hour ago.

Half-asleep and hazy, Clark Kent partially thought he was still dreaming when he saw the legendary characters from Greek and Biblical myth stood on his doorstep, both shivering in Metropolis's notoriously bitter winter.

Atlas stood in front, his golden locks of hair glistening in the Yuletide sun. His body looked like it was carved from stone, though it was partially concealed by his soft silk cape. Under that he wore skintight lilac spandex with lime-green trunks and boots. Samson stood behind and wore a bright red and blue tracksuit with crimson-leather boots and a pair of goggles around his neck. His body and face were somewhat ape-like, his arms hanging down in front of him like a gorilla's would. He almost tore Clark Kent's apartment door down when he gave it a knock.

Once Clark answered, the dynamic duo briskly explained their situation and convinced the last son of Krypton to help them in their quest. Atlas spoke first, explaining, "PLEASANT MORNING, MY GOOD CHUM! I AM ATLAS! MY FRIEND HERE IS SAMSON! WE _MAY_ OR MAY _NOT_ BE _THAT_ SAMSON AND _THAT_ ATLAS! WE ARE A TIME-TRAVELLING SUPER-TEAM WHO SPECIALISE IN ACCIDENTAL TIME MISPLACEMENTS!"

Then Samson, "A few thousand years from now, a cyborg Tyrannosaurus Rex with laser eyes is somehow going to get its hands on a time-machine and travel into the past… _your_ present, 2016. It is currently terrorising Metropolis City Hall and has incinerated quite a few innocent bystanders."

"WE WOULD BE _DELIGHTED_ IF YOU, SUPERMAN, WOULD JOIN US, ATLAS AND SAMSON, IN OUR QUEST TO CAGE THE BEAST AND RETURN IT TO ITS OWN TIME!"

Clark closed the door.

He took a breath.

Clark opened the door, whispering, "How do you know I'm the Super-Man?"

"HO! HO! HO!" Atlas let out a hearty laugh, "HE STILL CALLS HIMSELF ' _THE_ SUPER-MAN!'"

"Well. We have been to places where that's simply public knowledge." Samson answered.

"...in the future?" Clark asked, "You've been to places…. in the future?"

"YES! IN THE FUTURE!"

"So… are you coming?" Samson asked.

And a mere half-hour later, the last son of Krypton was holding on for dear life on the solid and scaly tail of a T-Rex, trying to lure it into a time-portal of some-sort, while also dodging ricocheting laser fire. Samson rode its crown, unsuccessfully trying to tie a rope around its neck so he could guide it as you would a horse, whilst Atlas dragged the beast by its jaw into the wild and untamed vortex, which shot long forks of lightning that spread across the streets, shorting out parked cars and lampposts.

Kal-El dug his fingers into the small spaces between the monster's scales, desperately clawing his way up its wildly wagging tail and onto its back, which had earlier been dented by Atlas, the dinosaur's robotic endoskeleton partly exposed. As the tail of the beast had been moving from side to side, the Super-Man was caught off guard when it suddenly shot up, throwing the boy up into the air and then back down onto the back of the creature. His weight caused the tyrannosaur's metallic spine to collapse and lay flat, essentially pinning the beast down.

Atlas screamed, "GOOD JOB, MY FRIEND!" as he tried to help by dragging the dinosaur's jaw down to the ground, effortlessly resisting every one of the creature's attempts to break free. "SAMSON, MY BOY! IF YOU COULD THROW ME DOWN THE END OF THAT ROPE SO I CAN DRAG THE ANIMAL THROUGH THE PORTAL!?"

Samson complied, Atlas catching the rope, pulling it over his shoulder and pushing against it to manoeuvre the Tyrannosaurus Rex into the portal. Pieces of pavement and tarmac dragged beneath its feet and belly, its short and stubby arms trying to grab ahold of something to no avail. As he edged closer to the time-vortex, Atlas began to be consumed by the field of lightning shooting from it, eventually disappearing with the rope. Kal continued to press onto the beast's back, keeping it from jolting back up and carrying out its reign of terror on Metropolis City Hall to completion.

As the creature's nose was eventually also consumed by the purple portal, Samson told Kal that he could let go now, that the vacuum effect would naturally pull the rest in. And so it did. A fleet of dust followed the creature home as it was dragged back into the 91st Century, kicking and screaming, with Samson on its back. The edges of the vortex closed abruptly, the once violent vacuum turning into a thin pink line and then disappearing.

Kal breathed a sigh of relief before looking around at Metropolis City Hall. It was completely ruined. He couldn't even begin to imagine the amount of money it would take to fix all of this. Sirens wailed throughout the entire block as the injured were scraped from the floor and plopped into ambulances, a few screams were still heard but a bittersweet calm was beginning to settle. A young ginger photographer with a Daily Planet lanyard and ID card poked his head from behind a wrecked car and pointed his camera at Kal-El of Krypton, whose eyes began to trail upwards.

Clark Kent noticed the Christmas tree, which he attended the lighting of a couple of weeks ago, still standing triumphantly in the centre of city hall, towering over him. He let out a chuckle. Sure, a few baubles and a roll of tinsel fell during the commotion but the tree was quite intact. The lights were even still shining. Kal diverted his attention from the tree and to the red-haired photographer, he shouted, "Come take a picture of this!"

The photographer, who hadn't taken any notice of the tree, had amazement plastered all over his face when he saw the tree still standing. He said, somewhat facetiously, "It's a Christmas miracle!"

The photographer lifted his camera from his neck, lining up the perfect shot, making sure nothing would get in the way or ruin it. His finger raised itself up and was about to press down until a blinding flash projected from the tree. A shockwave spread from the light, creating a rumble that caused the tree to collapse and then become engulfed in flames.

Samson and Atlas walked from the burning mess and towards the Super-Man and the photographer. Atlas's eyes lit up not at Clark Kent but at his red-haired friend. "HO! HO! HO! JIMMY OLSEN!" He belted out, "IS IT REALLY YOU!?"

"James Olsen. But yeah." Olsen answered with a hint of bewilderment in his voice, "Who wants to know…?"

"HA! I AM ATLAS!"

"Like the Greek-?"

"MAYBE! BUT YOU, OLSEN… YOU HAVE A BRIGHT FUTURE AHEAD!" Atlas yells, Samson trying to stop him but to no avail, "TURTLE BOY, MR. ACTION, HEAD ART DIRECTOR FOR THE DAILY PLANET AND CATCO… I MEAN, IT ALL ENDS IN YOU BEING SHOT IN THE HEAD BY AN AFRICAN WARLORD BUT-"

"Excuse me?"

"That is enough chitchat, my friend! We've places to be!" Samson cuts in, slapping his hand around the Greek god's mouth, and turning his head to El. "We came back to thank you, Superman. And to give you _this_."

Samson dropped a big red button akin to something you would see in an old game-show into Kal-El's hand. The boy who fell to Earth twisted and twirled it around, inspecting it, until asking, "What does it do?"

"Well, we owe you a favour, Superman. Press that button when you need assistance and we will come."

"Okay. Uh. I mean. Thank you."

"Farewell, Superman."

"Faaarewell…?"

"So the guy… the GREEK GOD… just tells the kid how and when he's gonna die!?" Pete, later that day, at Call Kal HQ, yelled hysterically.

"Not when. Just how. But yes." Kal answered, watching Pete practically die of laughter, "It's not funny, Pete. Imagine what that kinda knowledge would do to a guy."

"Well it'd help him to avoid it." Pete spoke. "It's simple, just don't go to Africa."

"Well he said that an African warlord was going to kill him, he didn't say it was specially gonna happen in Africa. It could go down in Canada for all we know!" Kal argued as Lana Lang stepped in with a half-full bag of popcorn, her eyebrow raising slightly as she had missed the entire story. Her eyes surveyed the office, scanning like a machine to see if everything was clean and tidy. And it was- aside from the mountain of scrunched up paper that surrounded the seemingly empty bin. Out of boredom the two men had decided to play a game to see who had the better aim, it turned out that neither did because neither had gotten a single ball of paper into the bin. Even with his super-powers, Clark Kent was a terrible shot.

Lana sighed and pointed at the mess, Clark zipping forward and making it disappear, and then sinking back into his BarcaLounger. The room stayed silent for a minute until Pete broke the ice, "So… how was your date?"

"Movie was trash." Lana nonchalantly replied. "God. Why do we still let-?"

"I asked about the date."

"Oh. Yeah. He's...nice." She said, narrowly dodging the question and turning her head to Kal-El. "I heard _you_ 'd been busy today."

"Hmn?" Kal groaned, having zoned-out for a moment until, "Oh. Yeah. Mhm. Met Samson and Atlas… _and_ fought a dinosaur."

"Dinosaur, huh?"

"Yeah. A dinosaur."

"Cool." Lana spoke until the room became silent again. A knock at the door. "Shoot. Locked the door again." She edged back to it, unlocking it and opening it for their next client, the cold winter air beginning to leak into the room.

A thin but fit middle-aged man walked through the doorway with the swagger of a model or an actor. He wore a ridiculously expensive black tuxedo and a limousine driver's cap. Below it his grey eyes glowed, they were full of life despite what the bags below them were telling. He wore a chipper expression, smiling sincerely and turning his pencil moustache upside-down. "Good evening." The man spoke with a thick and posh English accent. "Is there a Mr. El here?"

"Hi." Kal said, his voice cracking slightly, "That's me."

The man went to shake Clark's hand, "Hello. My name is Alfred Pennyworth, I'd made an appointment."

Clark said nothing.

"The gentleman with the cybernetic eye had taken it down for me."

"Oh. Uh. Sorry, he didn't tell me about it before he left for the holidays, no worries."

"I'll be taking you to meet my employer... your client."

"Um. Okay." Clark paused. "Can I go get my coat?"

"Of course."

In a few moments, Kal-El of Krypton was sat in the back of a limousine on his way to God knows where. He was almost eaten up by the soft leather seats as he climbed in and sat down. Alfred asked if he was comfortable, Kal nodded, even though he wasn't. He was sat in the back of a black limousine with no idea where he was going and no idea who he was going to meet.

Maybe it was Lex Luthor again. This kind of thing did seem to suit him. Maybe it was one of Luthor's competitors scared of what the madman would do to them. Maybe it was the Mayor or someone else big and influential. What about those rumours of Luthor having a secret cabal that controlled the city? Maybe he was going to meet them. Or at least one of them.

After a few minutes of theorising it became clear to him that it wasn't going to be anything or anyone he'd been guessing. It came to the last son of Krypton after he began to notice which direction the car was heading in. They were going further south. _South?_ He thought. _We're not going south, are we_? They couldn't be going south. All of the powerful and influential people were in the north side of the city.

As they kept going further and further in that direction, El could see that the amount of buildings in each block were getting lesser and lesser until they reached the outskirts of the city. They were on the dirt road. And then he was REALLY baffled as to where they were going. Was Alfred planning to pull him out of the car, shoot him in the head and then bury him out in the wilderness? Because if he was, he obviously didn't know who or what his passenger was.

Clark was almost fast-asleep when they finally stopped at a snowy hillside with what looked like a big black fighter jet parked on top.

"We're here." Alfred said. El let out a tired groan as he almost fell through the door of the limo. The driver let out a laugh, "You know, one usually waits for the driver to open the door for them."

The thick snow crunched beneath Kent's feet as he stood up beside the limousine, trying to focus on the oddly shaped aircraft that sat on the top of the hill. Alfred climbed out of the car, then beginning to wave at the flying vehicle. All of a sudden, a hatch on the jet dropped open, releasing intense rays of golden light, something casting a shadow within it. The figure was cloaked and walked heavily, stepping out from the aircraft and turning to Metropolis's Super-Man. It lumbered closer and closer, its cape gliding along the snow, until it reached about a couple of metres length from the two men. Kal-El of Krypton, the Man of Steel, Metropolis's Super-Man, in a tired haze, saw the figure and exclaimed, "The… the Batman?" He had heard stories of a man dressed up like a bat fighting crime on the news once or twice. He didn't think much of it.

"Yes." Bruce Wayne, the Dark Knight uttered. "I need your assistance."

"Always ready to help." Kal practically leaped into the air with enthusiasm, Batman visibly taken aback by it. "Something wrong?"

"No. I just thought I'd have to convince you first."

"Naw. It's cool! I've never actually met another superhero before. This'll be fun. Educational."

The Batman paused, asking himself if it was a mistake to come to this over-enthusiastic fanboy for help. He had been convinced by the loyal butler that raised him to try and reach out to someone who was part of this new weird and wacky world he had discovered and befriend them. Seeing as the Super-Man was also a superhero and just so happened to live in Metropolis, the city the terrorist sect Bruce was tracking had targeted, it seemed he would be a logical starting point. "I'll have to explain the situation to you…" Bruce finally mustered up a reply, "You don't really know the story…"

"Oh. That's fine. I got no place to be." Kal sat down on a conveniently placed log which stuck out of the snow, "Storytime with the Batman."

The Batman held back a snicker as he began to tell his story.

The Order of St. Dumas was a religious warrior sect that found its beginnings in the crusades, originally part of the Knights Templar. Their purpose was to protect the Holy Land and any pilgrims who journeyed to visit it. After a bloody civil war within the Templars about the changes brought about by translations of the sacred holy texts, the Order formed its own group named after their leader. The group continued to terrorise Western Asia and Eastern Europe in random, unco-ordinated attacks until the Renaissance where the last remnants of the Order seemed to disappear.

That was until the early 20th Century when a young German expressionist dancer and part-time explorer discovered the sacred right hand of Caleb Dumas (which apparently hadn't rotted away after centuries) in one of legendary warlord, Ra's Al Ghul's old hideouts and was seemingly possessed by it, reforming the Order and beginning to terrorise Western Europe yet again.

The Batman ran into the Order when he foiled a plot to create a Lazarus pit in Palestine. This would have resurrected Caleb Dumas and given him his own body, instead of having to constantly possess different people with his disembodied right hand until their bodies had expired. The Order fled to Dongguan, Dumas (or at least, his hand) counting on nobody ever being able to guess that they would flee to China of all places. There they plotted to end the perversion of their religion through mass market capitalism by destroying Christmas in America's favourite city, Metropolis.

They were just about to leave for the city of tomorrow when the caped crusader finally caught their scent. They only narrowly escaped when Batman was wounded by the sacred protector of St. Dumas, the white knight, Azrael (with a flaming sword, no less).

And then Batman came to Metropolis, without any clue of where the Order could be hiding out or of what they were planning for Christmas. So he went to its protector, explained the situation and asked for assistance. And thus began the team-up of the Century.

* * *

 **ACT II:**

 **The Breaking.**

* * *

Within Batman, the Dark Knight, the Caped Crusader, vengeance, the night, exetera, Clark Kent saw a part of himself. A part of him that he had sworn off almost a year ago now. The angry loner. The misunderstood monster. The man who thought that brutality and fear was the only way to get any sort of message across. Clark Kent had taken that path when he left his friends, his family and anyone who ever expressed any kind of caring for him in a one-man battle against crime in Metropolis. He crafted an imposing, dark, blank eyed persona from the deepest and most disturbed crevices in his mind (which weren't very disturbing and so lent to why brooding vigilante Clark Kent didn't quite work out) and created the Bullet. The Bullet was forged in a fire in his heart created by self-imposed alienation, a lack of direction in life and untamed and uncontrolled anger.

Just by the way the Batman composed himself, the way he treated his "employee" and potentially only friend, Alfred, and by the way he seemed to always refuse help even though he was the one who asked for it in the first place. The Batman insisted on first scouring the criminal underground of Metropolis for information on the Order of St. Dumas and so Kal-El of Krypton was stuck playing good cop to the dark avenger's crueler counterpart. It was a part Kent did not mind playing and would have had fun with if not for how brutally the Batman was treating the crooks he squeezed information out of (of which there was very little, just whispers and rumours).

In the history of man, nobody had ever witnessed more dinner forks impale more men over the course of one night than Clark Kent, the farmboy beginning to wonder if it had become one of the Batman's signature moves, similar to Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson's "The People's Elbow". It would not surprise him as the brooding bat did not seem entirely humourless, seeing as every other joke Kal would make would be received by desperately held back laughter. As the night drew on, the caped crusader's ability to compose himself weakened, El had no idea if this was due to the flask of whiskey the Batman was constantly sipping from or if the alien from Krypton's comedic material was just getting better over the night. Kal liked to think it was the latter but it probably was the former.

Throughout the night of terrors, as it turned out to be, El suggested that they should try a different approach seeing as torturing small-time thugs was not getting them very many results. The Batman promised that if they didn't find a lead that night, they could try the Super-Man's approach the next. As the hours of darkness faded away, the two decided to call off their search and return to their own respective lives (though Kent was not sure if the masked vigilante even had a real life) ready to try Kal-El's method of searching the next night.

As he laid on his back, arms and legs spread out, atop his mattress at the crack of morning, Clark Kent's mind wandered its way back a decade or so to the Christmases of his youth. The Christmas mornings where his space-hound, Krypto, would hop onto his bed, give him a sloppy lick on the face and serve as the boy's special early alarm for the day, almost as if the animal knew what day it was. The scent of his mother's honey roasted ham spreading throughout his childhood home and beyond, out into the farm. And, at the end of the day, while his parents were asleep, sneaking out to visit Lana and go for their annual flight across the small town in which they resided.

The childish excitement and anticipation returned to him at that moment. He couldn't wait to return home to Smallville- he just had to get his business with the Batman over with. _The Batman._ He mentally sighed. _What an experience teaming up with that guy has turned out to be._ Kent thought of him as an enigma that he desperately needed to solve. It was true that he saw a little bit of himself within the vigilante but the man still seemed so foreign and mysterious to him. It took a lot of restraint for him not to simply take a look at who or what was behind the Batman's cowl.

As the dark knight continued to dwell in his mind, he began to wonder if he had any friends or family. If he had anyone to talk to. He had a limo-driver (for some reason), but he did not seem to treat him very well. But maybe that stemmed from a place of fondness for the old man, rather than plain ignorance and insensitivity to his feelings. Kent just didn't know.

As morning broke and the people Clark Kent shared his apartment with began to wake up, it was clear that the boy from Krypton had a lot of explaining to do. "So we're doing a superhero team-up!?" Pete Ross exclaimed in excitement after having been informed about the situation, "Like just like the Avengers!?"

"Well. _I'm_ doing the team-up." Clark smiled, lounging on the sofa, "But yes."

"We can't tag along?"

"No. It's much more of a… a… Captain America and Falcon situation rather than the whole Avengers team, you know what I mean?"

"Him being Captain America and you being Falcon?" Lana Lang said, lifting her eyes up from her laptop for a second to see her friend's reaction.

"Ya know, I'm not even offended by that. Anthony Mackie. I mean, come on, he's the best."

"He's on the mancrush list for sure." Pete said before the entire room paused for a second. "So you guys are meeting up again tonight?"

"Oh yeah. And this time we're doing it my way."

"Are you going to go question Luthor?"

"How did you-?"

"You _always_ go hassle Luthor whenever something bad happens." Lana playfully groaned, "If I didn't know better I'd think the two of you were having an affair."

"Think!?" Pete exclaimed, "Lana. I _know_ they're having an affair."

"Alright, alright!" Clark shouted, "I _hassle_ Luthor every time something bad happens because, 9 times out of 10, it's his fault!"

"But do you really think he's gonna be helping out a mad Christian extremist terrorist organisation?" Pete asks.

"Well, thing is, he also knows about everything that goes on in this city. He has to have _some_ kinda information that can help us. Right?" Clark gets no response. "So _there_."

Lana laughed, imitating her friend, "So THERE!"

 **So there.**

Clark Kent, the Super-Man of Metropolis, and Bruce Wayne, Gotham's Dark Knight, had been waiting in Lex Luthor's own private office for half an hour. On the previous night, the Batman had promised that the two would investigate the Order of St. Dumas in a way that Kal-El, the Super-Man, would be comfortable with. It was already getting on Wayne's nerves.

For one, the idiot hadn't even checked to see if Luthor was even in the city. Being a billionaire industrialist and playboy himself, he knew that people of his own occupation did tend to travel around a lot. If he had the God-like powers of the Super-Man, he would be following Luthor everywhere he went and making sure the man didn't escape his grasp. Not that he would be following Luthor. The Batman really had no idea why they were there. _Such an amateur._ He thought. _A waste of potential._

The Dark Knight took a swig from the flask he had snapped into his utility belt, the Super-Man taking notice of this and asking, "What's in there?"

"Coffee."

"I've got super-smelling. I know that's definitely not coffee."

Bruce was taken aback by this, _super-smelling? What use would that even have?_ "Then why did you ask what it was?"

"I don't know. That's what people do. Ask questions. Spark conversation. Break the ice." Clark let the awkward silence pass until asking something else. "Uh. So. Got any plans for Christmas?"

"Do I _look_ like someone who has plans for Christmas?"

"You got a problem with Christmas, buddy!?" Clark chuckled in jest before asking, "Wait. Do you _actually_ have a problem with Christmas?"

The Batman held back a sigh, "I'm not exactly what you would call a fan."

"Why? Christmas is the best!"

"And I respect your opinion." Batman then continued, "It's Just not for me."

"Alright." Clark said, trying to put it behind him but simply unable to resist asking, "What did Christmas ever do to you?"

"Are we really going to…" the Bat groaned in genuine annoyance. "Are we really going to _do_ this?"

"Yes. We're really going to!" Clark laughed. He had no idea how much he was actually bothering the Batman, "Explain why you don't like Christmas."

"It's childish. Forgetting about one's problems for a day in the year in the name of "comfort and joy", which is really just a message given to you by corporations to make you massively consume their products." Batman continued, "It's useless. A billion good deeds aren't going to save the world. One day isn't _actually_ going to bring peace on Earth, despite what people would have you believe."

Clark thought for a moment until asking, "Well, what brought this on?"

"What?"

"Well no one just grows out of Christmas or gradually starts to think it's dumb, something happens to make them feel that way." Clark continued, "And no one just up and decides to wear a bat-costume and prowl the streets at night fighting crooks. So what happened?"

Wayne let out a snarl, "What?"

"What happened to you to make you… _this_?" Kal somewhat rudely asked. Immediately after the words left his mouth, he regretted it.

The Batman chuckled for a moment, "Look at you. You must feel pretty proud of yourself _psychoanalysing_ me or whatever you think you're doing. You actually think you're breaking through to me with this psychology 101 crap, don't you?"

 _Jeez. This escalated quickly._ Kent thought, opting to stay silent.

"You don't _know_ me. You don't _understand_ me." He took a breath. "I understand you, though. What you are is pretty plainly there to see."

"Well at least I'm not afraid to _show_ people who I am." Kent muttered under his breath until raising his tone, "At least I'm not a coward that hides behind a mask."

" _You're_ a naive hick who came to the big city and thought he could make a difference. Admirable. But you don't understand the cold, hard truth of the world. No one man can make a difference. You throw sticks, the world throws stones right back at you."

"Then why the heck are you dressed like a giant bat?" Kent shouted in complete and genuine Batman didn't answer, Clark stepping closer, his attempt to relate to the Dark Knight having failed, "If you don't think anyone's ever gonna make a difference, then- then why are you here!?"

The Batman stayed silent, his eyes fixed on the boy who fell to Earth, he took another swig from his flask. A strange calm began to make its way through him. "Good luck with your investigation." He said.

"What!?" Clark shouted, "Where are you going!?"

"Away." He said.

"This whole thing was _your_ idea, you can't _leave_!"

"Bad idea."

"Darn it." Just before the Bat turned to leave, out of anger, Kent gave himself a good look at his face. He hadn't expected to recognise it. His original plan was to scan the vigilante's entire body for some sort of identification but it turned out his face was all Clark needed.

 _Bruce Wayne_ , he thought. _Well that was unexpected_. In an effort to stop him from leaving, Kal shouted the man's name. His real name. The Bat responded by emptily uttering Kal's after finishing off the contents of his flask. He'd known about his secret identity all along.

It was at this moment that Lex Luthor had finally decided to show up, having fortunately not heard the two superheroes expose themselves. The buzz he had as he entered the room was instantly squandered as he saw the man of steel, sighing and asking, "What did I do now?"

"Luthor. What do you know about the Order of St. Dumas?"

"The what of what?" Luthor chuckled. "Honestly, it's like you think I'm the cause of everything that's wrong with the city."

"Lex. Please. Stop playing around. People's lives are in danger."

"Okay." Lex admitted, "I may have heard a thing or two about them being in Metropolis. _Just_ a thing or two."

"Okay. Spill it."

"Well the head of their warrior's guild, Azrael, the Angel of Death, is standing right behind you and is ready to give you the biggest and hardest beating of your life. Like. Right now."

"What!?" Kal-El exclaimed as he swung his body around only to meet the hard metal fist of the so-called "Angel of Death", Azrael. Immediately something was wrong. Metropolis's Super-Man had survived much worse than this. He had been through things that would naturally cause more pain and injury than just a simple punch to the face. But there he was, knocked down on the floor with a bloody nose, looking up at the first man to ever physically be able to match him.

Azrael stood proud, though the muffled screaming that Clark could hear coming from his mouth-area would beg to differ. Layers upon layers of armour coated him, a red Christian cross painted across his chest and stomach area. A crimson hood cast a shadow on his eyes and a small mask that only covered his nose and his mouth obscured his face. Red smoke circulated his body, Clark presuming it was the result of some kind of magical enchantment. _Magic_. He thought. _Magic! What will they think of next?_ Maybe that was why the metal monstrosity was able to hurt him, he wondered.

After waiting for Lex Luthor to scurry away like a rat, Azrael continued his assault on Kal-El of Krypton, lifting both of his hands up and preparing to slam them back down on the alien. Before the hammer came down, Kent managed to catch the angel of death's hands, the skin on his own being scratched away at by the jagged and spiky metal gloves Azrael wore. Lifting his feet off of the ground and transferring his weight to the Templar knight, Kal managed to kick Azrael in the chest, shooting him into the bulletproof glass window of the 163rd floor. "Aha!" He shouted in victory, wiping blood from his nose.

Azrael was visibly aggravated by this, throwing what looked to be his own variation on shurikens (naturally shaped like a Christian cross) at Clark, who dodged them and began to charge at the knight. The Angel of Death responded to this by perfectly executing a roundhouse kick to Clark's face, which sent the boy's head through the floor. Then, grabbing the Super-Man by the legs, Azrael swung him through the wall and into the next room, Lex Luthor's personal library.

Kal-El let out a cough as sawdust from the decimated wall coated his lungs, the impact of hitting it also beginning to take a toll on his back. Again, he wiped blood from his nose, watching Azrael slowly approach him. Kal stood, fists clenched, teeth gritted, ready to fight. Speeding towards the knight, El dealt the metal monstrosity a few blows to the head, a noticeably high-pitched muffled scream projecting from Azrael's mouth again. _Odd,_ El thought as he gave the Angel of Death one last punch. The head seemed to be a weak spot and so he would continue to break it down. Or at least he would have if his body hadn't stopped all of a sudden, against his will.

A foreign voice began to speak in his head as he completely froze. It had a vaguely Eastern European twang to it but it spoke English almost flawlessly. " _Hello."_ It said.

 _Who are you!?,_ Clark Kent thought. _How did you… what the heck is happening!?_

" _I'm going to give you control of your eyes for a moment. When I do, I want you to look at your shoulder. Okay?"_

 _Alright. Sure._ Kent suddenly was able to move his eyes again, which darted to his left shoulder.

" _No. The RIGHT."_

 _Okay._ His eyes went to the opposite side and instantly widened with shock. _No. That's impossible._

As it turned out, it was, in fact, possible.

 _No way. That's not on. That's not happening._

It was happening.

 _Is that… you?_

" _Yes. It is me."_ The voice in his head spoke. On his shoulder was a disembodied hand which somehow was moving by itself, waving at Kal-El, whom he had frozen. _"My name is Caleb Dumas. I have lived for almost a thousand years, during which I have toppled empires, killed kings and taught the TRUE gospel of Jesus Christ. And yes, I am a hand."_

 _A hand that moves by itself. And can talk telepathically._

" _And can possess anyone it touches."_

Blackness began to cloud Kent's vision, fatigue causing every one of his muscles to fail and collapse, he desperately moaned, "No… you can't… ugh…"

He dropped, unconscious.

* * *

 **ACT III:**

 **The Joining.**

* * *

Bruce Wayne, the Batman, sat alone in the penthouse in the North Side of Metropolis he had purchased a few years ago. Still wearing his batsuit, he worked his way through a bottle of cheap wine (he had never been one for all of that expensive stuff).

 _Why the hell am I still doing this?_ He asked himself, recalling his promise to his parents. His most sacred vow. He swore by the spirits of his parents to avenge their deaths by spending the rest of his life warring on criminals. But to what end? If you had asked him half a decade ago, he would have said that making Gotham safe again was his endgame. But five years later, Gotham _was_ safe. Gotham _had_ risen from the ashes.

But the Batman still had a thirst for justice. He still wanted to help people. So he decided to take his mission globally. To bring justice beyond Gotham. It should have been obvious from the beginning that his mission was futile. That one man couldn't change the world. But he set out on it anyway, trying to help people any way he could. It almost seemed achievable before the world went and threw monsters at him. Things that he did not know how to handle or fight.

Wayne poured another glass of wine, staring into his crimson reflection and asking himself, _what now?_ As he did, he heard a creek at the door, it was Alfred, who was shocked to see the state the man he had raised was in. "Not now, Alfred." Bruce groaned, "Not now."

"Master Wayne, I think you should have a look at what's on the telly."

"Home Alone?" Bruce drunkenly laughed, "They play that every year."

"I assure you, sir, this is no laughing matter."

"Well okay then."

A few moments earlier, Kal-El of Krypton awoke in a darkened room to the surreal, horror-film-esc sight of a disembodied hand walking along his chest with its fingers. The hand of Caleb Dumas. His body was still frozen, laid flat on a cold steel table in view of a cheap camera. The hand began to speak in Clark's mind, " _Ta-da_."

 _Where am I?_

" _LexCorp Tower. Still."_

 _Luthor. The swine. I KNEW he was involved._

" _Not really."_

 _What?_

" _I mean, he is but he isn't. He was under my control. Just like you right now. I've actually locked him in a cupboard for safekeeping."_ Caleb stopped for a second. " _Honestly, Kal, this has been too easy. We didn't expect you and that Bat-guy to just end up on our doorstep."_

 _Okay. What do you need Luthor for?_

" _He lives in the most heavily fortified building in the city- which also has one hell of a view. It was really perfect for us."_

 _What do you need ME for!?_

" _Oh. We're just going to execute you on live TV."_

 _WHAT!? I thought your plan was to ruin Christmas!_

" _Is a man being executed on live TV ever not going to ruin Christmas?"_

 _Fair point. But why me!?_

" _Do you even know what you've done, Kal? Do you even know what you've accomplished here!? This is Metropolis, America's favourite city, and it's been rotting for the last 20 or 30 years. When I came here in the 30s, this place was the city of tomorrow, it was the bee's knees! And then it just slowly declined into filth. Until you came. You've given these people hope… you've made them feel safe again… and we're going to take that away."_ Caleb let him think for a second until adding, _"Oh also because you're a heathen and a demon and a slight against God. You know, being an alien and everything."_

All of a sudden, Clark felt his head move up against his will and his lips begin to move, "We done setting up!?" Caleb spoke through Kal's voicebox.

"All done, master!"

"Excellent. Get rolling. Who's speaking!?"

"I thought you were!"

"Well I can't. I'm keeping the… the _super powered alien…_ down!" Clark's ears hear a few little murmurs come from the darkness.

"Nobody else wants to do it!"

"Ugh. Fine. FINE! I'll do it myself. You're going to have to delay the stream, though!"

Back at Bruce Wayne's penthouse, he and his butler were staring at a titlecard on the television screen, which was also on every channel. It read,

" _In 10 Minutes, The Death of Kal-El (courtesy of the Sacred Order of St. Dumas)_."

And then, all of a sudden, it changed to:

" _In 20 Minutes, The Daeth of Kal-L (courtesy of the Sacred Order of St. Dumas)."_

Alfred turned to Bruce, "I suggest you sort yourself out and help the poor boy."

"This is nothing." Bruce turned away, "This doesn't mean anything."

"It _means_ that this man needs your help. Whether you like it or not. And helping people is _what you_ _do_." Alfred continued, "I don't know what the bloody hell has gotten into you lately! All this drinking, all this anger… I haven't the slightest clue of where it's coming from!"

"Get out of my face, Alfred."

"No! This city needs your help! This man _needs_ your help! What is _wrong w_ ith you!?" Alfred yelled, "And I want the truth!"

"You want the truth!? I'm _scared_ , Alfred. I don't even know what the world is anymore, Alfred. _Gods_ are out there! Men who can fly, immortal knights with… flaming… swords, women who can destroy the world with one slight of hand… it all terrifies me! It rocks me to my core. I'm _just_ a man, Alfred. Just a man. Just. A man. I can't do anything to help. Nothing to stop this. That hulking mass of metal almost killed me in Dongguan and I don't know what I'm going to be able to do to stop him now. I could save Gotham. I could barely save Europe. I can't save the world. All of this is beyond me."

" _You_ of all people are scared by the world going mad!?" Alfred almost began to laugh. " _You_ are the craziest of us all. All of this, every single bit of it is _nothing_ compared to you."

"What!?"

"You dress up as a bat and fight crime. And you make it work. You are the most mad and insane and… most brilliant man I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. And you _always_ find a way. Against impossible, insurmountable odds, against the world… you _always_ find a way." Alfred put his hand on his son's shoulder, "The monsters. The devils. The demons. The gods. They should be scared of _you_. Not the other way around."

"Why?"

"Because you are a lunatic in a bat-costume who punches evil in the face." Alfred smiled. "Now you get out there and fight some monsters."

The Batman took a breath, "I'd need you to track the signal."

"Already done. They're… still… at LexCorp."

"Where would I be without you, old man?"

LexCorp tower, standing at 840 metres, started construction as soon as the Burj Khalifa was completed at the tail-end of 2009. Lex Luthor made it his personal mission to de-throne the skyscraper as the tallest building in the world by only one floor, just out of a warped sense of competitiveness. It was designed by Alexei Luthor himself, built with light metals and completed in a record-time of two years (mostly by construction-bots).

Every ten floors, there was a group of Caleb Dumas's brainwashed servants, who were there to make sure that their master's plan went swimmingly. Every twenty floors, there was an elite soldier of St. Dumas, who would serve to ensure that the servants were doing their jobs and were devoted to the cause. On the final floor below Caleb Dumas and Kal-El (who were on floor 162), there was Azrael, the Angel of Death. He served as the cult leader's personal bodyguard. If anyone made it past the hundreds of armed goons, by some miracle, it was certain that they would never be able to defeat the holy knight of St. Dumas.

The Batman used an experimental new technology which was tentatively titled, "detective vision" to survey the tallest building on Earth. He counted every single one of the guards, joking with his butler about making his way up the building and confronting every single one of them like John McClane in Die Hard (the only Christmas movie the Batman could ever stand), but instead decided on an easier path. As he decided on an entrance, he kept the Death of Kal-El livestream open, which had started but was nowhere near finishing. Caleb Dumas had decided to dedicate the first half an hour or so to preach his own warped version of the gospel of Jesus Christ through Kal's body, burying the lead and boring the life out of anyone who wanted to see a good beheading.

After hopping into the batwing, the Batman contemplated how he'd deal with the problem of Azrael. Azrael was an undead knight who had defeated the Batman with his flaming sword once before, and so it was clear that the Batman needed a different approach.

On the 161st floor, the Angel of Death waited, with his arms crossed, to be called up to the 162nd to decapitate Kal-El of Krypton on live TV with his sword of sin. The knight knew that it would take a while for Caleb to finish his speech, and so he took to watching the skies through the 161st floor of LexCorp tower's massive plate glass windows. As his eyes fixed on the clouds, he began to notice a black mass that drew closer and closer to him. At first he dismissed it as a bird of some sort but as it grew larger and larger, he knew it couldn't be. But still, he thought nothing of it.

It was too late to get out of the way by time he figured out what it was.

Like a stealth missile, the Batwing ploughed itself through the 161st floor of LexCorp tower, sending a barrage of broken glass into Azrael, who lifted his arms to cover his face, and pinning the knight beneath its left wing. The collision sent a loud rumble through the entire building but did not cause enough damage to become a concern. As he heard the crash through Kal-El's paralysed body, Caleb Dumas sent a few armed goons downstairs to see what in the world could have happened. As they made their way down the stairs to the floor below, they were cut through like a knife into butter by the Batman, who made his own way up.

Booting the door open, the caped crusader threw two batarangs into the faces of the remaining armed guards who stood alongside Caleb Dumas, instantly putting an end to their nights. Before Caleb Dumas could react and throw Clark Kent's body at the Batman, the dark knight leaped into a forward roll, shot up, and trapped the severed hand of Caleb Dumas in a bag that he seemed to pull out of nowhere, scooping it off of the Kryptonian's chest and trapping it.

Clark Kent shot up, his body finally under his control again. He exclaimed, "WHOAH! GOD! You handled that like a pro!"

"Thanks." The Batman said, notably much more chipper than the last time the Super-Man had seen him. "That actually means a lot."

The two shook hands, giving the world an iconic image that would go down in history. However, it was cut short by the arrival of Azrael and the rest of Caleb Dumas's men. "You ready for this!?", the Batman asked.

The Super-Man looked at the camera, which was still streaming live to every television set in the city. He laughed. "Let's give the people a show!"

Both let out a battle cry, leaping into the army of crazed fanatics, fighting alongside each other.

 _About forty minutes later…_

"So you like Die Hard?" Kal-El asked, "Alright. You're at least somewhat human. _Somewhat._ "

"Oh yeah..." The Batman chuckled. The two sat surrounded by the bruised unconscious bodies of about two-hundred cultists, Azrael having been wrapped in chains and sat down in the corner. Lex Luthor was still locked in a cupboard somewhere but nobody had bothered to find him, though the billionaire didn't mind much, he still had his mobile phone and wifi-access. "That's coming from an alien who can bend steel in his bare hands."

"Hey! I was raised _here_." Clark laughed, "And I watched and loved _all_ the classics!"

"Can't say I had the _exact_ same experience."

"If you say one more bad thing about Home Alone, I'll chain _you_ up too!"

The two continued to banter about Christmas movies and superheroic stories until the police finally decided to show up and haul every single one of Dumas's servants to prison. The Batman opened up for the first time in a long time and allowed himself to be as human as anyone else. They both felt that they had made a new friend that night.

However, something still stuck out to Kal-El, the last son of Krypton. The Batman SAVED his life. And his old-fashioned farm boy code did not allow for something like that to go unthanked for. He was racking his brain for ideas until he noticed the big red button Samson had given him a couple of days ago and something struck him. He was going to give this new friend the best Christmas of his life.

When Bruce Wayne arrived at home, he enjoyed a well-earned eight hours of sleep, Alfred was happy to see that Bruce was somewhat back to his normal self. Somewhat. The drinking was still an issue, seeing as he finished off the bottle of wine from earlier before he went to bed.

The futility of his mission also continued to eat at his brain, nothing was going to change the fact that the Batman really was never going to change the world. However, he could change lives across the planet, he could help people, save people. He could do his part. And though it didn't seem good enough for the Batman, at least he was trying to make the world a better place. The Super-Man, just before the two parted ways, had reminded him of the countless lives that have probably been saved now that the Order of St. Dumas has been neutralised. Alfred also said that Kal-El would have been slaughtered in front of his own city if it wasn't for the Batman. Bruce took some kind of solace in this, allowing himself the peace that sleep offered.

When he woke, it became clear that his butler had hidden every ounce of alcohol that was in the penthouse. Logically, Bruce initially went for his own hidden stash but instead he decided to try and make it through the day sober. Just that one day. Though it would be especially hard seeing as it was almost Christmas and every place in the city worth going to was closing down in a few hours for the holidays.

He tried watching Home Alone. Impossible.

He tried watching It's A Wonderful Life, his late father's favourite movie. Also impossible.

A Christmas Story? _Overrated_.

The Santa Clause? _Sickeningly sweet_.

The Nightmare Before Christmas. _Mediocre_.

Eventually he caved in and decided to watch Die Hard. He was still technically celebrating Christmas. Just on his own terms.

At sunset, a loud knock was heard at his apartment door. Alfred answered, Bruce noting that his butler's "Hello." was softer and less official. It was someone he knew. Into the living room came Kal-El with two friends, Samson and Atlas. He had read about the trio's escapades at City Hall in the papers. "What's this?" The Batman asked, "Let me guess, you're here to talk to me about the Avengers Initiative?"

"This is my Christmas present to _you_!" The Super-Man handed Bruce a large, silver flask, "It's my mom's homemade eggnog. I _swear_ to you, it's the best thing you'll ever taste."

"Um… tha-"

"AND this…" Clark spread his arms out. "This is my thank-you for saving my life- HIT IT, ATLAS!"

"LET US GO!" The man who may or may not be a Greek god jollily shouted, pressing a button on his mobile phone and teleporting the four away in a puff of smoke.

Everything went white.

* * *

 _Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle-all-the-way…_

 _Oh what fun it is to ride in a One-Horse-Open-Sleigh…_

 _Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful…_

 _And since we've no place to go…_

 _Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…_

 _I'm dreaming of a white Christmas…_

 _Just like the ones I used to know…_

 _Where the treetops glisten and children listen…_

 _To hear sleigh bells in the snow…_

 _The boys of the NYPD choir were singing 'Galway Bay', and the bells were ringing out for Christmas Day…_

 _And the bells were ringing out for Christmas Day..._

Bruce Wayne's ears opened to the whirr of a foreign machine passing over his head, whilst Christmas classic tunes weaved in and out of his ears like a soothing tide. His eyes flickered, taking a moment to register what it was he was seeing. He recognised the sheets upon sheets of pure, white snow, as well as the frosty, chilly air. The kind of chill you would only be able to get in Gotham City. He looked up to find cars floating in mid air, whizzing about through an invisible line of traffic. The skies were clear and yet it snowed anyway, the thick stones of soft ice being illuminated by the neon white lights that gave the familiar but foreign city light.

Before him he recognised Gotham City Town Hall but it was slightly different. It was brighter, cleaner, and packed with guests. Christmas lights hung from its walls but they were not the old, recycled pair that the city council would half-heartedly throw onto the crumbling building every year. They were new and they were absolutely beautiful. As Wayne looked around in awe, he'd watch children occasionally stop to stare at them with him, leaving with a twinkle of wonder in their eyes. Rushing past him, he noticed the peculiar sight of a few young lads and ladies wearing red, Christmas coloured cowls which were similar to his own, as well as another little girl wearing a shirt that was similar to his new friend, the Super-Man's logo.

Clark Kent put his hand on his friend's shoulder, telling him, "We've something to show you."

"Is this not _it_?" Bruce asked.

"Not entirely. Come."

"What time is it… what year are we in…?"

"Does it matter?"

"No… no, it doesn't."

They travelled through the city for a while, making certain stops where Bruce wanted to inspect how Gotham had transformed itself into Neo-Gotham, as it was called in whatever time they had landed in. Their journey ended at a massive building built where the old Arkham Asylum used to be, in a place where the notorious Narrows used to be, a place called the Wayne Memorial Hospital. Before the steps that led to the entrance of the building stood a fountain, and on that fountain stood a statue. Bruce's late parents carved from stone smiled at him, and with them was a depiction of himself and a few other similar looking boys. Through held back tears, Bruce beamed, "This is… this is amazing."

"We're not done yet." Clark smiled. "Come up the steps with us."

Samson, Atlas, Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne made their way up the stairs to the building itself, Clark pointing to a plaque on the side of the main wall. It read:

" _This building is dedicated to the family that made Neo-Gotham possible:_

 _Thomas Wayne_

 _Martha Wayne_

 _Bruce Wayne_

 _Richard Wayne_

 _Timothy Wayne_

 _Jason Wayne_

 _Damian Wayne_

 _Helena Wayne_

 _And Alfred Pennyworth, who, although, not related by blood, was and always will be part of the family."_

Bruce laughed with joy, "That's right. Always will be."

Clark went over to him, "Cool, huh?"

"Yeah… more than cool."

"You did it."

"Well. I will do it. Hopefully."

"I know you will. It's written on the wall."

"I guess." Bruce and Clark stayed silent for a moment, "Yeah. I guess so."

"But I gotta deliver some bad news."

"What?"

"Gotham City still has the highest crime rate in the country, by far." Clark turned to his new friend, Bruce saying nothing. The boy who fell to Earth laughed, "Turns out nobody returns their library books out here."

The two break into a hug, Clark continuing, "It's a citywide epidemic!"

 _Jingle bells, Batman smells…_

 _Robin laid an egg…_

 _The Batmobile lost its wheel…_

 _And Joker got away…_

 _Hey!_

Bruce had no idea who The Joker was. Or Robin. Or Richard, or Timothy, or Jason, or Damian, or Helena. But he was looking forward to finding out.

* * *

 **EPILOGUE:**

 **The New Beginning.**

As expected, the Batman did not take a break for Christmas Day. He may have found new hope, he may have learned to loosen up a little, but he was still Batman. And the only thing that could put the Batman out of commission was death itself. After a night of taking down the Black Mask's operations in Metropolis (and running into a friend or two in the process), the Batman was ready to kick back and put his fluffy pink slippers on.

Lumbering through his penthouse on bruised feet, the Batman made his way to the mini-fridge next to his bed that Alfred didn't know about. Inside was a six-pack of Coor's. He longed for a cool, refreshing beer. However, above it, on his bedside table, stood a flask of eggnog. _What the hell?_ He thought, grabbing the flask and taking a sip. His eyes widened, a smile growing on his face. "That's the best damned thing I've ever tasted."

He shut the door on the mini-fridge, taking the eggnog, sitting down on his couch and opening up his old copy of "A Christmas Carol" from when he was a boy.

* * *

 **The End.**

* * *

 _Thank you for powering through this, long, long, long LONG Christmas Special! I hope you found some kind of enjoyment in it! 21st Century Superman will return in 2017._

 _But for now, have yourselves a Merry little Christmas and a Happy New Year!_

 **-JW**

* * *

 **Stay tuned for more chapters in this series! While you're at it, check out some of the other DC Redux titles in this bold, new universe such as the aforementioned Batman: Beyond Gotham by Ivan Krolo, Green Lantern: The Book of Oa by Bodhi Ouellette, The Flash: Incandescent Legacy by James Brady, Green Arrow: KIA by George Jones or Wonder Woman: Young Americans, also written by Joey West!**


	6. Alien (4)

_**New Year's Day, 2017**_

 _ **Miles beneath Metropolis.**_

 _ **A Place Called Valor City.**_

Ke-Iko was fifteen. He had red hair, green skin and yellow fingernails. He had a thin moustache that he was trying to grow out. He had a coveted collection of Pokemon cards which his uncle found for him during one of his trips to the surface in the early days. Ke-Iko was, for the most part, your average teenager. Angst. Mood swings. Hormones. Young lust. All of that stuff. He went to school. He did his homework. He argued with his parents. All were typical of a boy his age. The difference came in that he had never seen sunlight before. Sure, he had seen it in the movies and on the television but never directly. Only in pictures or diluted through layers upon layers of tinted glass. But never for himself. And that was because Ke-Iko was a terralien.

* * *

 **Terralien**

[ter-eyl-yuh n]

• _noun_

A biologically extraterrestrial being that was born on Earth.

An extraterrestrial being that lives on Earth.

(They thought it was a nicer term to use than alien. Terrans had horror films called "Alien".)

* * *

Ke-Iko's parents were refugees. Survivors of the decimated Rao star system. They watched as their homes, their lives and some of their friends and family burned in the nuclear fire. And they told Ke-Iko this story almost every week. Thousands of starships escaped the imploding system, the kings, the lords and the leaders all having places to go. Places to run. Others went off into the abyss, directionless and looking for salvation. But those who were left behind and forced to wait were gifted by the sight of the Kryptonian Speeding Star. The star that they followed to Earth, a planet they watched for a few years until settling.

Earth was a funny planet. All blue, green and cloudy. And the people who lived on it were even funnier.

They could be great. They could be kind. They could be clever. They could be compassionate. But they could also do unspeakable things to their own kind. They could turn on each other in unbelievable ways. And if they were so quick to hurt each other, to hurt their own brethren, who knew what they would do to those who were so different?

And so the interstellar refugees went into hiding.

The majority spread across the world, living alone or with their families in isolation. But a small faction got together and followed the Kryptonian Speeding Star to its visible crash site. America. The supposed land of the free. They could not find the crater it left but they decided to hide in their own sort of holy land, the place that the Speeding Star graced its presence with.

Beneath the great city of Metropolis was a place forgotten over time. A place called Valor City. Built in the late 19th Century by an immortal madman from the Middle East who tried to prepare the city for "the coming apocalypse". At its time, Valor City was the pinnacle of architecture, technology and industrial strength. They called it the hidden city of gold. The city of tomorrow.

Valor City was Ke-Iko's place of birth. And in his fifteen years on the planet, he had never seen the Earth's surface. However, that was about to change. Now that the Speeding Star had once again reared his head. Now that the Super-Man was there.

A terralien on the surface world who was raised by the indigenous species and whose only purpose was to help and serve. And he was loved almost universally. It seemed like the best time possible for the People of Valor to come out from under the covers and show humanity that they were there and ready to contribute. And that was why Ke-Iko was there, standing outside the office of Valor's Ultra Humanite, Shugel.

The Ultra Humanite was a role on the council of Valor. Whoever filled that role was in charge of the interactions or expeditions the Valorians made into the world of the terrans. The communication and contact Valor made to anyone and anywhere. The position was previously held by the humanoid Almeraci Tuskaa, before his death. Shugel was the then current (and ultimately final) Valorian to take the role. Shugel was an albino simian from Andomia who worked under the Grand Controller of that planet, the richest and harshest man in the known galaxy. He carried a tough, no-nonsense attitude around with him, the perfect man for the job of Ultra Humanite. Ke-Iko would have been lying if he had said he was not at least a little bit intimidated by the eight-feet tall white furred gorilla.

Ke-Iko was there because he wanted to be part of the first expedition into the surface world in almost twenty years. And Shugel, the Ultra Humanite, was the man who could arrange that. Ke-Iko was standing by the door, leaning against the massive, cold, bronze-painted wall. He was nervous, his age would definitely come up as a factor for why he should not go up to the surface, but he had prepared a number of counters to the points he thought the Ultra Humanite would bring up. Ke-Iko stood there for ten minutes. Then twenty. Then thirty. And then, all of a sudden, a massive bang came from the room, which brought with it a ray of light.

Ke-Iko had to see.

He softly turned the knob on the door, trying to avoid that clicking sound that they all made. It opened, Ke-Iko stopping it from swinging open and holding the edge of the door to his face, so he had a big enough crack to look through. What he found in the room was the big old ape standing before what looked like a holochat projection.

 _Holochat?_ Ke-Iko silently asked himself while pulling away from the crack. Tuskaa, the last Ultra Humanite, said they were all worn out. That was why the Valorians could not call for aid from beyond Earth. He had to investigate further. He looked again to see who in the world Shugel could have been talking to.

The holochat projection let out an almost blindingly bright white light which turned blue when it hit the walls and different shelves and papers that cluttered Shugel's office. In the centre was the hologram of a tall green man. Green like Ke-Iko but nothing like he had ever seen before, the shade was lighter. He must have been from another star system. His skin was much smoother and his eyes much darker. He did not have the small gills left over from his marine ancestors like Ke-Iko did. His teeth were flatter and rounder than the sharp, thin picks that the young terralien boy had. And the biggest difference came in the small, rounded metal holes that were stuck into the man's cranium, which projected a pinkish-purple light.

In terms of dress, the man looked like a walking circuitboard. Countless pink and red wires and buttons and metal bits that the young boy could not comprehend the use of covered a white and black undersuit. He was speaking back to Shugel so there was no way it could have been a recording or anything. No way. The thin green man spoke, "Wait a minute. You're not Tuskaa."

"No."

"Where is he?"

"He's dead."

"Oh. And I'd be correct in assuming that you are his replacement?"

"You would."

"Your name?"

"I am Shugel of Andomia."

"Andomian?" The Collector's voice curled up into a higher pitch until breaking into a sigh, "It's a shame about Tuskaa. There aren't many Almeracians left. I presume you were the one who ended him?"

"Of course. But I let him die in his sleep. Good and peaceful. You should've shown up for his funeral."

"Yes. He was always one of my preferred customers. It's a shame he didn't live long enough to leave Earth."

"You'd been a little unresponsive. Forced my hand. I'm getting old, you know."

"Well I'd been a little busy. I went to the Andromeda Galaxy to find a rare flower that only grows once every ten billion years. They say smoking its leaves can grant you immortality." The green man waffled on, rubbing his chin, "Curious, don't you think?"

"Curious indeed." The Humanite went on, "Eternal life. You're a lucky man."

"What?"

"The flower."

"Oh. Oh, you think I'm going to smoke them. I understand now." The Collector pointed at the simian and then rubbed his chin. "Andomian, of course."

"Well aren't you?"

"No."

"You going to sell them?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then what's the point?"

"To _have_ them. To _look_ at them. To be the only one in the universe to able to." The Collector leant forward, "Enough about me. Are you aware of the deal?"

"You bet your ass. I'm the one who convinced Tuskaa to make it."

"Well then. Does it still stand?"

"Of course." The Ultra Humanite then paused for a second before continuing, "But the price has doubled."

"Doubled?"

"Doubled."

"Why?"

"We found it."

"What?"

"We found _it_."

"You didn't."

"We did. It's here. _He's_ here. The Speeding Star. A boy from Krypton. And a hound."

"What breed?"

"Glacier Lab."

"I can get one of those anywhere."

"Not this one. Turns out whoever was its owner back on Krypton made themselves a super dog. The yellow sun's changed it as it did to the boy."

"Skin of steel?"

"And eyes of fire."

"Remarkable."

"Indeed."

"Tempting, too."

"Think about it. The last Kryptonian _and_ every survivor of the Rao System you've left to find. All yours for a lift off of this awful planet and 200,000,000 gold pressed credits."

"And you're not hesitant at all about giving up your own people?"

Shugel smiled, "No."

"Cold." The green man leant back again. "But, as always, business is business. You'll have your money, simian."

"Wonderful."

"I'll be seeing you." The Collector spoke before disappearing. Ke-Iko closed the door. _The Collector._ He thought. The Collector was a horror story. A story the older, starborn, kids would tell to frighten the youngers. The big, bad, bald, pale man who was more machine than man. The big, bad, bald, pale man who would terrorise the starways in a vessel shaped like a skull. The big, bad, bald, pale man who would snatch people at night and add them to his own personal collection.

 _The Collector wasn't real, was he?_

But there he was.

The door clicked back open again. Shugel stepped through, "Sorry to keep you waiting." He said.

Ke-Iko made himself forget everything he just saw.

* * *

 _ **The world changes.**_

* * *

 **G Gordon Godfrey**

• _TheRealGGGodfrey_

Today begins a new era of American history. Free from terrorism, depression and dangerous immigrants from foreign stars. #inauguration

5:33PM- 20 **Jan** 2017

 **Call Kal HQ**

• _CallKalHQ_

"You're goddamn right we're marching" -Lana Lang, 01/21/17. #womensmarch.

6:24AM- 21 Jan 2017

 **The Daily Star**

• _DailyStarMet_

"Superheroines of the Women's March" by **•** CKentDailyStar, feat Lana Lang of **•** CallKalHQ on the Daily Star webpage #womensmarch _/2jhf04k_

11:54PM- 21 Jan 2017

* * *

 _ **Progress is made.**_

* * *

 **The Daily Planet**

• _DailyPlanetNews_

Metropolis's Super-Team Takes Down Trafficking Ring in Southside _/2nHjdo0_

4:23AM- 15 **Feb** 2017

 **The Daily Star**

• _DailyStarMet_

"Call Kal's "Team Super" Project: Saving Southside's Sons and Daughters" by **•** CKentDailyStar on the Daily Star webpage _/2g4hjH9_

6:55PM- 20 **Mar** 2017

 **The Daily Planet**

• _DailyPlanetNews_

Superman from Southside lends Superpowers to Investigation into One of Metropolis's Most Corrupt Cops _/2dvB6kj2_

3:43AM- 08 **Apr** 2017

* * *

 _ **People Talk.**_

* * *

 **Ron Troupe**

• _RTroupeDailyPlanet_

Not denying that these traffickers don't deserve to be smacked up but should **•** CallKalHQ have the power to freely dispense vigilante justice without question?

6:13AM- 15 Feb 2017

 **G Gordon Godfrey**

• _TheRealGGGodrey_

Aliens are indoctrinating our children and we're just sitting by doing nothing!? **•** POTUS get these illegals off our world! #TeamSuper

5:33PM- 20 Mar 2017

 **Cat Grant**

• _CatGrantDailyStar_

Is Call Kal HQ's Lana Lang a revolving door of men? Find out in my exclusive expose! /4hGtb60

2:46PM- 28 Apr 2017

 **Dan Gerous Brit**

• _Gerousererbytheminute_

Actually think its good superman's taking down the pigs…

11:59PM- 31 **May** 2017

 **Dan Gerous Brit**

• _Gerousererbytheminute_

He should go after the muslims next…

12:01AM- 01 **Jun** 2017

* * *

 **Kal-El continues to be clueless.**

* * *

 **CallKalHQ**

• _CallKalHQ_

We didn't start the fire, it was always burning since the world's been turning, we didn't start the fire, no we didn't light it but we tried to fight it! #BillyJoel

12:27AM- 10 Jun 2017

 **CallKalHQ**

• _CallKalHQ_

We gotta get out while we're young, cause tramps like us… baby we were born to run! #Bruce #Bruce #Bruce

1:12AM- 23 Jun 2017

 **CallKalHQ**

• _CallKalHQ_

After a long, heated discussion about his odd habit of posting random song lyrics in the middle of the night, we've decided that Kal has been barred from the twitter page -Pete #weresorryBruceSpringsteen

2:26PM- 24 Jun 2017

* * *

 **Clark Kent continues to be even more clueless.**

* * *

 **Clark Kent**

• _CKentDailyStar_

Hey, **•** _LLaneDailyPlanet_ , want to go out sometime?

11:44PM- 4 **Jul** 2017

 **Lois Lane**

• _LLaneDailyPlanet_

Hey, **•** _CKentDailyStar,_ do you usually ask women out over twitter?

11:46PM- 4 Jul 2017

 **Clark Kent**

• _CKentDailyStar_

 _Replying to •LLaneDailyPlanet_

I'm quite inebriated and was bullied into doing this.

11:47PM- 4 Jul 2017

 **Lois Lane**

• _LLaneDailyPlanet_

 _Replying to •CKentDailyStar_

Cute.

11:50PM- 4 Jul 2017

 **Clark Kent**

• _CKentDailyStar_

 _Replying to •LLaneDailyPlanet_

So yes?

11:51PM- 4 Jul 2017

* * *

 **And here we are...**

* * *

 **NUMBER FOUR:**

 **#Alien**

 **A DC REDUX JOINT**

 **TYPED UP BY JOEY WEST**

 **DOG GROOMING BY ROBO BRANDO**

* * *

 **Present Day**

 **Blacksmith's Pub • Southside, Metropolis**

Kal-El of Krypton, in his almost year long career as Metropolis's Superman, had faced many threats to himself and to those around him.

On his first day in the city, he spat in the face of Alexei Luthor, the most powerful man in America (don't tell the President). Months later he stopped a jet plane from crashing into the heart of Southside, throwing down with a militia of hired goons a few days after that. He had faced bank robbers, angry rioters, killers, clowns, killer clowns, the general election and even an overlong Christmas special in which he teamed up with Batman from Ivan Krolo's Beyond Gotham (also found on the DC Redux fanfiction page) and fought an undead soldier of God.

And on this day, he'd face his toughest challenge yet: karaoke.

Karaoke on the worst possible night of all. Justin Timberlake tribute night.

It was a well known fact (and running joke that everybody and their mother was in on) around Southside known by cops, criminals, civilians and superheroes alike that the scary, tattooed, bearded and heavily built owner of Blacksmith's Pub who once, on a drunken night, admitted to a variety of villainous war crimes he had committed in Vietnam, was an out-and-proud superfan of everything Timberlake. In fact, he had a whole room in the back of his pub dedicated to Justin and N-Sync memorabilia, and every time his hero would grow a year older, he would let it out to the public in the hope that the singer would someday visit Metropolis and show up.

The audience comprised of almost the entire adult population of Southside, some sharing chairs and a large majority crowding in the back of the front room, eager to take part. Justin Timberlake tribute night had become somewhat of a tradition, happening every three weeks. Clark Kent and his 'date', ferocious and scathing reporter, Lois Lane, had to arrive two hours in advance just to get a good seat. Kent knew each and every one of the faces in the audience but they did not know his, his signature pair of glasses covering his face and hiding his identity (though not particularly well as every time he would step foot in Southside, someone would always comment on how similar he looked to his alter-ego).

Lois sat with her mouth wide open in amazement as Clark Kent, the Super-Man of Metropolis, Kal-El of Krypton, the Man of Steel, meekly murmured his way through JT's 2006 hit single, "What Goes Around Comes Around" from his second solo studio album, "FutureSex/LoveSounds". The ace reporter from the Daily Planet wore a white tank top, an earthy green hoodie tied around the black jeans that clung to her waist and legs and a pair of rectangular glasses, which balanced on her nose and ears. The glorified gossip-jotter from the Daily Star (who really only wrote about himself) wore his signature circular glasses with a white/black Bob Dylan shirt pulled over his abdomen and a burgundy cardigan covering his arms and shoulders.

After the embarrassment of mumbling each and every word of Timberlake's modern classic, Kent was then subjected to the walk of shame back to the table at which his date sat. Lois Lane, who had decided against shutting her mouth during the performance in favour of hurling a number of backhanded compliments and "motivational" words and phrases at Kent, leant back in her seat as the shell of a man sat back down in his stool. Clark sighed somewhat sarcastically, "And to think, the day we first met, you were offering me help and moral support."

"And I still am! I had your back through the entire thing! Honestly, you were so cute up there."

"I think I'm going to throw up." Kent nervously laughed, "I think… I think that was probably the worst experience of my life."

"Ah. Come on, Smallville. I do this every week."

"Timberlake night isn't on every week!"

"Yeah. Well. I lied."

"Worst date ever, Lois. Worst date ever."

"Date?" Lois lowered her tone, blankly staring into Clark's terrified eyes, "This is a date, eh?"

"Aw crap."

"Kidding." She giggled. "I know. I'm really bad. I should stop torturing you."

"Yes. Please. I don't know if I can take it anymore."

"If only the world could know how much I made the Man of Steel squeal."

"Gee, I don't think everyone heard you. Couldja say it again but a little louder?" Clark laughed, pausing and then saying, "And could you stop with the Man of Steel stuff? It actually _kills_ me."

"Sorry, Superman."

"Aagh. It hurts. I hate you. I hate you so much."

"You can actually blame the photographer for that one." Lois took a sip of her bourbon before continuing, "But Man of Steel's mine. But I think I'm going to change it to "Man of Soul" from now on. Because your voice- God, it almost brought me to tears."

"Stop…" Clark smiled playfully, "This is you getting me back for that whole Twitter thing right?"

"You do not ask a girl out on Twitter, dude. You just don't." Lois laughed, "And most would say you do not say "yes" to a guy who asked you out on Twitter. But, ya know, I went against my better instincts. Cause I'm nice like that."

"Well. Thank you for your… niceness." Clark leant back, "It's much appreciated."

"Actually, that was a lie."

"What?"

"I've been meaning to talk to you- properly- for months and I saw an opportunity so now you're trapped, Kent!" Lois chuckled, giving Kent's shoulder a light punch, "I got you."

"You got me, Lois." Kent put both hands up. "You got me good. These on or off record?"

"You'll find out." She began, "Favourite album of all time?"

"Gee. Odd question."

"Answer."

"Born to Run. Bruce Springsteen."

"Obvious but acceptable."

"You saw that, huh?"

"Everyone saw that. Do you know how many followers you guys have?"

"I never bothered counting."

"You don't need to-" Lois stopped, "So. X-Ray vision."

"Oh no."

"Come on."

"Alright. Only with people I'm nervous around."

"That's interesting."

"Well, you ever hear of the phrase "imagine them naked"? Well I don't have to imagine. And believe me, it helps."

"You know, you _almost_ made that not creepy."

"I'll take it."

"Heh." She let out a humoured gasp, "Favourite Beatle?"

"John."

"Typical." Lois smiled as she thought for a second, "Alright. Last one. It's the big one."

"Ooo. Gotta brace myself."

"Ha. Ha." Lois laughed sarcastically before asking, "Why keep this up?"

"Keep what up?"

" _This_. You know, the whole, "I'm Clark Kent, I'm a reporter for a trashy toilet paper rag, I grew up on a farm, I like vanilla ice cream and pineapple on my pizza..." thing? The double identity. That whole thing."

"Alright, that came out of _nowhere_." Clark folded in on himself. "Gave me three pats on the back and then dropped an H-bomb on me."

"Sorry. It's in my nature. I'm a reporter. Maybe you'll understand one day." Lois chuckled.

Kent let out a loud laugh, "Did you just ask me here to insult me the whole time? Cause I'll just leave right now, I don't _have_ to answer any of your questions, lady."

"Go on then."

"You're so mean."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Right. What was it?"

"Why the whole glasses and messy hair and converse thing? Why not just be… you know, the Superman the whole time?" Lois smiled, Clark growing uncomfortable, "I mean, that guy… that guy is… perfect. He's a _superhero_. And the other guy, he's… he's so cute. He's so damned adorable. Honestly. But he's such a dork!"

"Heh." The boy from Smallville let out half-a-laugh until taking a breath and continuing, "If you want to know- honestly, it's because I can't hold back the idiot 24/7."

"That's- that's funny, I guess."

"Seriously, I'm not _trying_ to be funny or anything, that's what it is." Clark laughed before quietening his tone, "I'm an idiot. Sometimes I'm worse, sometimes I'm a complete and total ass. Just selfish and broody and- I'm awful. I'm- I'm just human, I guess. And I learned very early on that when you have the gifts and occupation that I have, you can't be any of those things because that could mean that someone gets hurt. Kal, Superman, whatever- he can't afford to be _just_ human."

"So- so _this_ is you? Just completely?"

"Yeah." Clark said, "I mean, the other guy's definitely a part of me. He's just not the _whole_ me. I was _raised_ as Clark Kent. On a farm by two really great guys. I can't just throw him away. He's _me_."

"Uh-huh."

"I'd also be broke if I threw him away so…"

"Yeah…" Lois spoke, distracted as her phone began to ring, "Sorry."

"It's cool."

"Yeah?" She answered, every word then beginning to mold together and become a big sigh, "You can't keep doing this. I know you do. Look. You don't have to. I've been doing this for a while now, I know how to get my own scoops. You could get fired for this, don't put your neck on the line for me. No. Don't punch anyone. No. Please. Do not punch anyone. Alright. I know. Thank you. Love you too, Dad. Bye."

"Not a conversation I'd have with one of _my_ parents but you do you, I guess."

"Heh. My dad… he's this big military general guy. Keeps giving me scoops, which I _hate_."

"Seems kinda nice of him."

"Well it makes me feel like he doesn't think I can do my job right. Also he could lose his job. It's just not a good very idea."

"Oh. Well. Uh. What's the scoop?"

"Nosy bastard." Lois laughed, "Spaceship."

"What?"

"Found a spaceship."

"Really!?"

"No. It's… they find a "spaceship" every other week. Ever since you came out of the shadows, they've just been "finding" aliens. Looking real hard. They're always nothing. At one point they actually thought some deformed cow they found in the Midwest was one."

"Huh."

"Yeah, they're _that_ desperate. And you know what the worst part is?"

"What?"

" _That_ was the one I wrote about. Thought I was gonna be the first to tell the world about the next big thing after- well, you- but no. Nothing."

"So I guess this one's gonna be a wild goose chase too then?"

"It's _definitely_ nothing. But if you want the story, be my guest. I'm certainly not doing anything on it unless I get some cold hard proof that there _is_ other alien life on Earth. My reputation's on the line." Lois leant forward. "And by "cold hard evidence", I mean the guy has to dance naked on live TV while the whole world is watching and literally point out which planet he came from on a star chart."

"Fairs."

* * *

 **A Few Moments Ago**

 **Into the Outskirts of Metropolis**

It was very hard to be calm for General Sam Lane. He was a man of action. A soldier. A hero. A man people would look up to as a strong, stern, sometimes stubborn leader who would push through thick and thin to get the job done. Samuel Lane's temper was what gave him his reputation. It gave him his power. It gave him his drive. It was, in fact, a family curse. An old wives' tale spread through generations in a small, friendly town in Kansas told of Sam's ancestor, Old Joe Lane, who scared all of the wolves out of town with his lion's roar. The General took this story away from home with him with pride, telling the more gullible young trainees he would occasionally drill sergeant about it just to scare them. He would even tell his daughters, encouraging them to use their voices as weapons.

What General Sam Lane would always neglect to say to those he wanted to inspire was that Old Joe Lane, the legendary folk hero, had his own special Achilles Heel. His heart.

When a pack of grizzly bears came to that old midwestern town and started eating the livestock, Old Joe Lane roared and roared as loud as possible, scaring them away but tearing his own little heart apart.

And the same would happen to General Sam Lane if he did not change his ways. If he did not stop using that old lion's roar.

As a traditional military general, the old man's first approach to mentoring a young private would be to put the fear of god into them. That was no longer an option. His specially chosen, government approved and funded, prize-winning physician's orders were to watch his breathing, to spend time with family, to cut out all of the fat from his diet, to drink more water and "for the lord's sake, be more positive!"

Spending more time with family was very easy. He a wife of thirty years who he was still very much in love with. He had two amazing, beautiful and talented daughters of whom he was still on good terms. He had a younger brother who he would always meet for drinks in his favourite bar in Metropolis every couple of weeks. Family always came first.

Cutting out fat was hard. Sam had always felt that at least one animal had to be killed in order for a satisfying meal. He even joked about it with friends, as well as about his irrational hatred of vegetarians and vegans. Sam did not drink water and had made no plans on changing that. He was also, by nature, not the most positive man on Earth. But that was the one thing that _had_ to change.

And so the General sat in the passenger seat of a military buggy on his way to a "spaceship" with Private Andrew Jasons, the young, bespectacled trainee he was supposed to be mentoring. Lane was uncharacteristically silent throughout almost the entire trip to the "alien crash-site" in the outskirts of Metropolis, usually he would spout his "insane" theories and ideas whilst his trainee would listen and awkwardly agree to things that they usually would not. Lane was not one for small talk but the length of silence had extended to the point that he had to say something. Anything. He took a breath and asked, "This your first ACNABAFILGA then?"

"Sorry, sir." Jasons spoke, "I haven't been informed on what an acnabafilga is."

"It's an anagram." The old General explained, "Stands for 'Almost Certainly Not Alien But Ah F*** It Let's Go Anyway'."

The two shared a laugh before Jasons asked, "This happen often, then?"

"Too often. And it always turns out to be nothin'." Lane paused before saying, "But at least it gets us some fresh air."

"Shame we haven't found one yet, though."

"You think?" Lane asked, his tone completely changing. "You want another one of these aliens running around?"

"I… uh… I'm sorry, sir. It's not my place to talk about these things."

"No. Please continue."

"I...uh. You know. We haven't found one yet and they're just…" Jasons looked to Lane uncomfortably as the old man goaded him on, "I mean. That Superman shows up. Then that Flash in Central City, now we're hearing that that Veronica Cale's found her own one and is gonna go public with it- it just kinda makes us look bad. Makes us look slow. We just need, like, a victory, you know what I'm saying?"

"Heh." Lane chuckled, "I like the way you speak. You know… you know, you and I are very much alike. Yeah, I like what you're talking there."

"Thank you, sir."

"But." Lane's eyes turned black, "But you're not supposed to know about Godwatch. You were listening in when we went to CaleCo, weren't you?"

"I… uh…"

"Don't worry. I like your drive. I admire it. But don't be so sloppy with your words." Lane spoke warmly, noticing bright red and blue police lights approaching. "We're almost there now so I gotta tell you something. You don't say nothing about me or any of my business with Cale or Godwatch. Not to anyone."

"Why?"

"He's got ears everywhere."

"Who?"

"That red-headed bastard."

"Lex Luth-?"

"Yes. Him." Lane lowered his tone as the buggy slowed down in front of a police barricade. "Come on." The two stepped out of the vehicle and into the still excruciatingly hot summer night, a tall, dark haired, moustachioed police officer stepping out from behind his car and greeting them. "Evening, officer. My name is General Sam Lane and this is Private Andrew Jasons. What's the situation?"

"Well it's definitely a spaceship." The officer unironically stated, causing the decorated military General to begin hysterically laughing almost instantly after the words left the policeman's mouth. The General then turned to Private Jasons, who then also began laughing, the moustachioed officer's eyes becoming wild. "General."

The General calmed, "What?" He said before noticing the dead look on the policeman's face, "You're not serious."

The officer smiled, "We got something."

"We _actually_ found one?"

"Come with me." He said as he turned towards the darkness that stretched into the woodland area that covered the ends of the great city. As they journeyed further, they began to notice a series of spotlights akin to what you would see at the theatre or on the set of a film, all pointing at one solitary object that was obscured by a massive oak tree. As they continued in, they began to see the surprisingly smooth edges of a small, pod-like vessel which sat surprisingly gracefully on the land. The General had been told that an alien ship had crashed, not that it had been carefully parked on American soil.

"As I live and breathe." Lane spoke under his breath, observing the vehicle. The shuttle was a round, cylindrical structure about the size of a tanning-bed, built to contain one person in, what the General thought to be, relatively cramped conditions. It was a bright white which had been partially scratched away into a gunmetal near the seams, bolts and edges and some sort of alien language had been scribed around the area surrounding the supposed window, which was tinted black. About ten scientists and soldiers surrounded it, trying not to step past the bright yellow border of tape which was laid down on the ground around the vessel, the purpose of which bothered Lane. "Has no-one gone up and given it a look yet!?" He shouted.

Everybody in the immediate area turned to him, a scientist with a large grey beard running over to the General, his superior, and explaining, "Of course not. We've no idea where it came from. It could be carrying pathogens or… or radiation…"

"That Superman's been here on Earth twenty-something years and he's not brought anything."

"Well. We've got a squad full of-"

"When Luthor's ready to present his evidence, I'll listen. As for now, what he's claiming is bullcrap and I don't want to hear it. Got that?"

"Noted, sir."

"Good." Lane turned to Jasons, "Private Jasons."

"Yes, sir?" Jasons answered.

"Go over and tap the window."

"Yes sir."

"Excuse me, sir, that might not be the best idea." The bearded scientist raised his voice, causing Jasons to stop mid-walk. "What if he breaks it!? What if he gets hurt!? What if he hurts whoever's in there!?"

"By tapping the window?" Lane asked, "Jasons. You think going over and tapping the window's a bad idea!?"

"No, sir!"

"He's fine with it." Lane turned back to the scientist, then back to Jasons, "Go on!"

"Yes, sir!" Jasons yelled as he headed over to the spacecraft, taking a deep breath and trying to contain his excitement. The first man to respond to humanity's second contact with extraterrestrial life, at least _officially_ humanity's second contact. When he finally reached the vessel, he was surprised by how he almost towered over it, the crown of the curved, black window reaching just below his chest. He looked down, his eyes widening as he could almost notice a dead, white face in the glass. He turned. His mentor, General Sam Lane, putting his thumbs up. He turned back, lifting his hand, turning it into a fist. A hairy pair of knuckles gave the black glass window three taps. He gulped. He waited for a second. He turned. "Nothing!"

"Give it one last one tap!" The General shouted back, "For good measure!"

"Yes, sir!" Jasons turned back to the ship, speaking under his breath, "One. Last. Tap. For good measure." He lifted his fist and brought it back down. He turned to the General, "Still nothing!" Then something happened that made him stop breathing. He heard something. Something shattered from behind. Then he felt something tug on his jacket. Then came a tug. Then a violent pull.

"Jasons!"

* * *

 **Call Kal HQ • Southside, Metropolis**

"The hell is up with this dog?" Pete Ross spoke through a sweaty lip, squeezing his way through the front door of and into Call Kal HQ as to not let Krypto, the extremely loveable but also extremely dangerous super dog, out into the open world. The alien snowy-labrador leaped up into the air, pressing his paws against his owner's best friend's legs, trying to push his nose past his waist and into the heat of the Metropolis night. Cave Carson, Call Kal's resident master of caves and geology, had been watching the old dog as he worked the night shift, dealing with the craziest cases that Southside had to offer. The ginger haired, straw hat wearing bulk of muscle looked up over his newspaper, waving at Ross. The boy from Smallville spoke again, "He's been going crazy lately."

"He's old." Carson remarked, "Let him be."

"Yeah. Too old." Pete groaned back as he threw his sweaty jacket onto a chair, "Honestly, he's as old, if not _older_ , than Clark… that thing seriously should've croaked by now."

"He's an alien. Let him be." The cave master with a cybernetic eye chuckled, whistling and catching the hound's attention. The labrador instantly ran over to him, rubbing its head against his knee. "So where's Clark?"

"Clark's out- on a _date_ , if you can believe it."

"Sure I can." Cave paused for a moment, "He's out with that reporter girl, right?"

"...yeah… how did you know?"

"I convinced him to ask her out."

"Honestly?"

"Yeah."

"He's been agonising about Lana for _months_."

"Yeah."

"How'd you get him out there?"

"Talked to him."

" _I've_ talked to him."

"Many have."

"What did you say?"

"Just spoke to him, man."

"Just spoke to him?"

"Yeah."

"Cave."

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Course."

"Who the hell _are_ you?" Pete headed towards him, reaching over and leaning on the table that sat next to him. "Honestly."

"Cave Carson, geologist with a cybernetic eye."

"Uh-huh?"

"Yep."

" _Cool."_

"Cool."

The door swung open, Kal-El minus glasses, "dorky" clothing and everything Clark Kent walking through with a massive smile on his face. Krypto ran into him, tongue out and tail wagging, leaping up and leaning his paws against his abdomen. El's hands rubbed against the hound's head, little out a small chuckle as it barked at him. "Somebody's excited."

"How'd the date go?" The other two asked, almost in unison.

"Ah. Uh. Went well, I guess. Yeah.."

"Alright, alright, alright." Carson spoke back, Pete's face forming into a slight scowl. "You do the thing I told ya to do?"

"Yep. Really helped. Thanks."

"Cool beans."

"What thing?" Pete asked.

"Ah, it's nothing." Kal spoke, then letting out a slight chuckle and looking back down at Krypto, who gave him a quiet bark, "Alright, go. But be back before lights out, alright?" He opened the door for the hound, who flew out into the night.

"You're just gonna let him go out?"

"He's a good dog. Leave him." Carson interjected.

"Yeah." Kal began to explain, "We used to let him out all the time back home. Just to fly about. He always comes back, don't worry about him."

"I'm not worried about him." Pete leant back and sat on the desk next to Cave, "I'm worried about him hurting someone."

"Nah. He'd never hurt a fly."

 _(...Read 21st Century Super-Man Number Two: #Boom to see Krypto hurt an entire militia...)_

"He's old and crazy. Like, he came here to Earth with you _twenty-two years_ ago. Dogs aren't supposed to live that long, right?"

"I don't know. I'm not an expert on alien pups, alright?" Kal stepped over to lean on a table, "Are you guys ready? We're supposed to be at the school for Lana's thing."

"Ready as I'll ever be." Cave spoke.

"What thing?" Pete asked, "She has a thing?"

"The _school_." Clark spoke. "It's done. And we're supposed to be there. She's been working on it practically ever since we came here."

"Has she?"

"Has she!?" Clark raised his voice, "Y'know, sometimes I get the impression that you don't really care about what goes on here. Don't know _how_. But I do."

"No, I-"

"Mhm." Cave mumbled.

"Ugh." Pete groaned, "I was joking. Why we gotta get over there though?"

"Party." Cave grumbled.

"Party? I'm covered in grease and- and sweat from fixing that-!"

A knock at the door interrupted him.

Kal-El walked over to the entrance, preparing a smile as he opened the door. There he found a pale blue man in a military uniform, every drop of blood having escaped from his face, leaving it with a permanent look of worry. Behind, further into the moonlit Metropolis night, was a large, shadowy figure, which had its marked and maimed hand on the soldier's shoulder. The figure groaned from ache and wear, pulling itself forward and into the light that blared from the inside of the office. A massive, muscled body, clad in a crimson-red full-body set of skintight armour and a dirty, dusty and dimmed deep blue cape, stood in the doorway. Its heavily scarred face with broken and beaten black, beady eyes stared remorsefully at the last son of Krypton, below them a thick brown moustache and goatee. He took a few wheezy and painful breaths, stepping past the army man and towards the boy who fell to Earth, then taking a knee.

He croaked, "My name is General Zod, of the 115th battalion of Planet Krypton. It was I who stole our great star, Rao, from the skies, and thus, our world, and with it, our people. It is why I have travelled across an ocean of stars here to you, Kal-El, to kneel before you. To request that you pass judgement on me. To finally give you your birthright." He pulled a blue dagger from a scabbard on his waist, "To give you my life."

 **Next: #Aliens**

* * *

 **Stay tuned for more chapters in this series. While you're at it, check out some of the other Wave I DC Redux titles in this bold new universe, which include: Batman: Beyond Gotham by Ivan Krolo, Green Lantern: The Book of Oa by Bodhi Ouellette, The Flash: Incandescent Legacy by James Brady and Green Arrow: KIA by George Jones.**

 **Also be sure to check out some of the NEW Wave II DC Redux titles coming out, such as, Catwoman: Valentina by Bodhi Ouellette, the anthology title, DC Redux Showcase Presents by various authors and Wonder Woman: Young Americans, also by Joey West.**


	7. Great Krypton (5)

**Southside Middle School • Southside, Metropolis**

 **One Moment Before Completion**

This was Lana Lang's baby. This was her magnum opus, her Mona Lisa, her David, her Avatar and her 2001 all wrapped up in one giant package. As soon as she and the rest of the Call Kal HQ crew arrived in Metropolis almost a year ago, Lana instantly started looking into the options the children of the notoriously awful neighbourhood of Southside had in terms of education and was absolutely dismayed by the fact that when she did, she found that the old middle school planted in the centre of town had been abandoned for almost ten years and was set to be demolished. And so, she set the refurbishment and rebirth of this run-down and ravaged school up as her own project for the year, attending meetings with the mayor, hiring teachers and finding a principal whilst Clark fought crime and Pete and Cave went around being the neighbourhood handymen. It was not an easy job. Lana had chosen engineering as her career path and so really had no idea how to pull it all together. Despite this, she pulled through and at the end of it all stood in the centre of her achievement.

This was her moment. The entire building had been refurbished. Everyone she needed had been hired. She had acquired the funding needed to keep the school running from the state and it was set to open in the fall. All that was left was nailing the commemorative bronze clock into the far wall of the main hall. She stood there on a step-ladder, sliding the curved rim of the clock across the nail until it was completely straight, then letting go and turning around. A camera flash. _Hope my face doesn't look too dumb,_ she thought to herself as she smiled.

A round of applause erupted from the crowd, Lana freezing in place, not sure what to do. She found herself lost in her thoughts for a moment, a short bout of anxiety kicking in, forcing her down the step-ladder. Scanning the audience of pressmen, teachers, people of the school-board and others, she searched for her support. Her friends. Her "boys". Her eyes plucked and pried through each and every face, looking for a friendly one, but they were nowhere to be found. _Late_. She thought, _why am I not surprised?_

Those she did find were a smattering of people she knew and had personally hired, people who had helped her along the way, people just there to capture the moment and one she did not want to be there at all. Cat Grant, Clark's coworker at the Daily Star. A harpy who followed Lana everywhere she went, prying for fake, manufactured gossip and exaggerating everything she did in her columns. Lana maneuvered her way past her as she walked into the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging laughs until she reached the end of the room, where she could lean up against a wall and pull out her cellphone to ask her friends where they were.

"Where are you guys?"

"Lana. You need to get down here now." Pete spoke through the phone, "It's Clark- he's-"

"He's what?"

"It's _bad_ , alright? Real bad."

"What's going on?"

"Cave. Cave, you tell her."

"Cave?"

Cave slowly and calmly explained the situation. In a haste, Lana sped out of the building, rushing over to Call Kal HQ. Emerging from the crowd, Cat Grant smiled, smelling an opportunity. She mouthed to herself, "Where are you going?"

She followed.

* * *

 **NUMBER FIVE:**

 **#GreatKrypton**

 **A DC REDUX JOINT**

 **TYPED UP BY JOEY WEST**

 **ALIENS BY ROBO BRANDO**

 **[ZOD KNEELS ... PART TWO]**

* * *

 **Lex Luthor's Penthouse • LexCorp Tower, Metropolis**

"General Lane." Alexei Luthor scoffed, "I was not expecting you."

General Sam Lane lifted his beret, pressing through his greying black hair through his fingers, a layer of sweat building on the top of his head. Before him sat Lex Luthor, who sported a maniacal, eager smile. Lane's eyes widened at the sight of him, the billionaire scientist/industrialist's appearance having almost become a parody of itself since he, and the rest of the world, had last seen him.

Alexei Luthor had embarked on a self-imposed exile since the "LexCorp Siege of Christmas Eve", doubling down on a project which he had claimed was going to be his greatest contribution to mankind, and in the process had neglected to attend to things such as, his company, which had been left in the hands of his favourite masseuse, his impeccable physique, which had grown slightly softer over the last few months, and his signature shimmering ginger locks of hair, which had grown into a ratty mess that hung over his shoulders and down to his chest. Even his personal hygiene had taken a backseat to this new extra-important, end-all, be-all project that would change the world. However, despite all of this, his sense of style hadn't changed a bit.

Clad in a suit whiter than lightning and wearing a pair of golden sunglasses, Luthor sat on a throne built out of hundreds of thousands of millions of melted and molded together knock-off "Superman" action figures that Chinese companies had shipped to the United States to flood the toy sections of every supermarket in Metropolis. Lane had gasped at it as soon as he entered the room, Lex having taken a small pleasure in the amount of shock his chair had created, the old man being taken aback by the warped faces of the models that made Luthor's throne, their dead eyes studying his.

The billionaire inventor's dastardly grin grew larger as the hardened military general began to speak, the grizzled soldier pulling the collar of his shirt away from his neck to cool the heaps of sweat his body was producing. General Sam Lane spoke, "I need to know where it went."

"Where _what_ went?" Lex asked somewhat facetiously, "Honestly, I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Stop playing dumb, Luthor. I'm only asking because it took one of my men."

" _What_ took one of your men?"

"The alien." The General continued, "I know you know about it. Probably knew before _we_ knew. You've been watching the skies ever since the Super-Man came out into the open- nothing happens in this city without _you_ knowing."

"Wow."

"What?"

"Must be someone very important for you to come to me."

"It's someone I'm responsible for."

Lex sighed, "Unfortunately, I've no idea where this thing went. And I'm being honest here, General. But I'll keep looking for you. If I hear anything, see anything- smell… you'll be the first to know."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch. I'd hate to see an innocent human brother be hurt by one of those monsters." Luthor spoke, spouting rhetoric similar to that of G Gordon Godfrey. He then began to smile again. "But for now- I've work to do- I'm sure you'll be able to see yourself out."

* * *

 **Call Kal HQ • Southside, Metropolis**

The atmosphere in Call Kal HQ was tense, to say the least.

Clark Joseph Kent hadn't counted on this or anything like it happening today. He hadn't counted on it happening on any day in any week in any month in any year. He thought he was done with it all. Done with his alien heritage. Done with Jor-El. Done with Lara. Done with that Fortress up north. Done with Krypton. He had decided long ago that this world was more important than the ghost of his old one. The one he had never really known. He had decided to leave Krypton behind and move forward.

Leaving something behind would prove to be somewhat difficult when it literally came knocking at his door.

As soon as it happened, Clark froze, Cave and Pete having overheard the short exchange the boy who fell to Earth had with the old General and trying their hardest to help and support their friend. It took a few moments but he eventually regained his focus, masking his confusion and uncertainty with a big, toothy smile as he invited General Zod and the terrified US soldier who accompanied him in. Zod let off a look of surprise, as if someone had just slapped him in the face, as he followed Clark, Pete and Cave Carson into the front room of the building. The US soldier meekly introduced himself as Private Andrew Jasons, Cave then disappearing into the "kitchen" area to prepare four cups of hot green tea, passing them to everyone in the room.

They all sat there and sipped on their beverages for ten long minutes, nobody saying a word and everybody staring at that blank, almost defeated smile on Clark's face. The silence then continued for what seemed to be an infinity, that was until Pete stood and called Lana, concerned and scared.

Within what felt like moments, Lana came barrelling through the door, kneeling before Clark as he sat, completely silent, in his seat. "Clark." She lightly spoke, looking up at his face, "Clark, buddy. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm- all good."

"Clark." Lana followed his eyes across the room to General Zod, who's face became fixed on hers, his fingers tapping against the mug which held his tea. She yelled at him, "What the hell is this!?"

Zod stood, his arms weakly swaying as he did, speaking softly he said, "I- I am here to give Kal-El his birthright."

"That's not his name."

"Clark, then." Zod continued, "It was I who destroyed his- our- world. He is the _last son of Krypton_. It is his honour to strike me down."

"His honour?" Lana hysterically croaked, "Honour?"

"It would be retribution for every man, woman and child who died on that day." General Zod coldly explained, "It would be the highest honour any Kryptonian could hope to achieve."

"Shut up." Cave Carson interjected, allowing himself to get rougher than any of his co-workers had ever seen, "Clark's not kryptonian. Never was. He was raised _here_. Lived here every day of his life. I don't know whatever your people thought was honourable but cold-blooded execution isn't exactly viewed as moral over here."

"There is very little point in lying about what your species is capable of. I watched your world before landing, looking for Kal-El." Zod straightened his posture, violent passion bursting through his throat, "Savagery unlike anything I had ever seen. It is why you needed a saviour. An _other_ to teach you right from wrong. A man with strong, hot, red Kryptonian blood running through his veins. A born leader."

"That's not what it's about…" Clark mumbled, "Not at all."

Lana turned her head back to Clark, giving him a comforting smile, "Hey, buddy."

"Hey."

"You usually have the answers to these sorts of things, right?"

"Do I?"

"Eventually."

"That's nice."

"Yeah."

"I don't now."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"You could though. Eventually."

"I guess."

"Do you need to go and- like- splash some water on your face or something?" Lana paused, noticing the raised eyebrow on Clark's face. "I don't know. You need some space?"

"I uh-" Clark took a breath, "I think I need to call my mom."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He nervously chuckled, "I mean. She _always_ has the answers to these sort of things, right?"

"I guess so. Yeah."

"Yeah." Clark spoke as he lifted himself up from his seat and headed outside, Lana following out after him into the bitter, cold Metropolis night, feeling the chill run up through her spine and into her jaw. She grabbed his shoulders in an awkward embrace, once again asking him if he was 'cool'. He nodded, tapping the screen of his mobile phone a couple of times until a loud dialing sound began to blare from the device. Taking a breath, he sat down at the doorstep at the very front of the building, looking up at Lana, who beamed at him worriedly.

The dialing sound cut off, Martha Kent's voice being projected through the speakers on Clark Kent's iPhone. Clark spoke into the microphone, "Hey, Ma."

Lana rubbed her hand onto Clark's shoulder one more time until she began marching back into Call Kal HQ, her face turning into stone as her eyes scanned the room. Instantly, she noticed the scared and confused army-man sitting in the corner of the room, a rush of panic jolting through her body. She had completely charged past him and had not even begun to acknowledge his existence when she had arrived. Trying to clean up her own mess, she looked at him, her mouth opening, "Uh-"

"Don't worry…" Jasons answered before Lana even began to ask, "I won't say a word about this to anyone. You guys have treated me real well."

"Thank you so much." Lana sighed, relieved. She turned to Zod, whose chin flickered sideways until tucking itself back down into his chest. "Did you have something to say?"

Zod's voice deepened, "I was going to mention how much Kal reminded me of his father."

"You mean that guy you killed?" Pete threw his opinion into the ring, breaking the uncharacteristic silence he had held for the last few minutes, "You mean _that_ guy?"

"Yes." The General said, his tone giving away a hint of regret, "Jor-El was a brilliant scientist. But he lacked a real, _true_ confidence in himself. He always needed time to think. Time to assess every detail of the situation. If it involved people, he would have to listen to each and every one of their stories, just to see if there was something he missed. He lacked faith in his own judgement. He lacked the will to take a risk and accept that the moral way- wasn't always the _right_ way."

"You seem pretty sure of yourself for someone who's come here out of regret for his actions." Pete interjected, "Might want to lower the asshole meter."

"If you think I have come here out of regret, you misunderstand." Zod explained, "No. Rao was dying. Our great star. Our sun. Our God. And the only way to stop that was glorious sacrifice. And I did so- against the filthy and unclean. Jor-El- the _scientist_ -" Zod let out a sick chuckle, "-was the one who convinced the Elders of our world that I had gone too far. And so I decided, if I could not be a man of God, I would _kill_ God. I took the device Jor and his family had designed to reboot our sun and reverse-engineered it into a godkiller. And I removed Rao from the sky- and with him, every single planet in the system."

A silence took the room again for a moment, everyone human in the room being left completely gobsmacked, "How many?" Lana asked, growing increasingly agitated. "How many people?"

"I never cared to find out."

"You're-"

"A Monster?"

"No. Just pathetic. Cause I've seen people like you before."

"Really?"

"My dad was murdered by someone like _you_." Lana continued, "You pretend to be about some sort of code but you're really just another spineless coward who's scared of consequence. You're not here out of a sense of honour or- or truth or _anything_ , are you? You _know_ Clark won't kill you. He's 'too much like his father'- you're here for asylum."

"You know nothing about me, girl."

"Shut up. You don't blow up a sun without someone smelling the smoke, do ya?" Lana began to nervously laugh, "Everyone out there, up in outer space- they're after you, aren't they? And you're terrified of what they'll do to you when they find you."

Zod stayed silent, Cave Carson giving Lana an air high-five and Pete giving her a nod. The door opened. Private Jasons turned his head, watching Kal-El of Krypton walk in, the last son's eyes fixed in a determined stare towards General Zod. Kal then spoke, his powerful voice projecting throughout the room, "I think Zod and I need to have ourselves a talk. Alone."

Everybody stepped out.

Kal closed the door behind them, his head turning to Zod, the scrunched up expression on his face relaxing as he almost jollily skipped over into the kitchen and pulled out a packet of Oreos. Spinning on the spot, he then went over to Zod, offering the hardened warlord a biscuit. The General looked up at his face, surprised at the inviting and calm expression that he wore, shaking his head at the man of steel's offer. Letting out a lively hum, the boy who fell to Earth then crouched and sat down on the floor before the man who destroyed his homeworld, opting to smile instead of frown. He cleared his throat, "Alright. Let's go."

"What?"

"Let's chat." Clark crunched on an Oreo, "Get to know each other. I mean, you're the only person I've ever met who's from where I am. Well. Other than my dog."

Zod leant forward in his seat, "What do you know about Krypton, El?"

"Not a lot. Jor-El was pretty coy with the details."

"You spoke to your father?"

"Kind of." Kent explained, "He left me a crystal. I took it up north, threw it in the water and it made this- _massive_ fortress."

"Of course." Zod's walls began to fall, speaking with a hint of wonder, "Jor was working on Crystal Citadel technology to create a New Krypton on another world. As far as I knew, he hadn't perfected it but he must have left his work with you."

"He left a lot more than his work." The boy from Smallville went to continue, "He was _there._ In the Fortress. He said- he said that he was stuck somewhere between life and death. That he had waited in darkness for years until I found him."

"And what did he tell you?"

"Not a lot. Not what I wanted anyway." Clark's head drooped down. "I guess, now that I think about it, I didn't ask the right questions. I just kept asking, "why am I here?"... and he told me. I _know_ what happened to Krypton. I know the sun exploded. I know there was a war. I know that religious zealots stopped my father from doing the good that he needed to. But that wasn't the answer I wanted."

"What else could you want?"

"Well I kept asking _why_ I'm here. I asked and asked and I guess what I really wanted to know was: what to _do_. What my purpose was. And the last time I asked, he came down, put his hand on my shoulder and told me that I was here 'to live'." Clark looked back up, "And he disappeared."

"Ah." Zod lightly snickered. "He had chosen for you to forge your own path."

"Yeah. I guess."

"On Krypton, every child's purpose was to be determined before they were born." Zod smiled for the first time since Clark had met him, "One of the few things your father and I agreed on was a mutual dissatisfaction in others trying to control our fate. On Krypton, an Elder would choose science as the path for a newborn child to spite its family. It was deemed foolish and blasphemous but your father was exceptional- And as for _war_ , an Elder would choose that path for a child to spite its family. _Essentially-_ to send that child to its death."

"God."

"Your father would always tell me that we were going to create a new world where children would be free to stray from what society had chosen for them." An old rage then grew in the General's eyes, "It's a shame he chose to betray me for-"

"Stop." Kal's tone became sterner, "My father told me _all_ about you, everything except that you were the one who killed the sun. You _killed_ innocent people. You _deserved_ to be exiled."

"You told me you knew little about Krypton."

"That's… _not_ what I meant." Clark became softer again, "What I meant was- if I were to go back in time, back to the fortress, I'd ask what Krypton was _like_. Not what led to its destruction. Not the wars or- the suffering that people caused. Just little things. You know, the day to day. What made it home."

"Hmn." Zod drew himself back. "I could."

"You could what?"

"I could tell you. About everything. About Krypton."

* * *

 **Area Two-83 • Outside Metropolis**

General Sam Lane's eyes stared into the screen of a laptop, bloodshot and burned by the bright, heavy white light that projected from the machine. He had decided to help the crack-team of analysts under his employ in the search for his missing man, checking, double-checking and then triple-checking every surveillance satellite, security camera, video-phone and live feed in Metropolis that the American military had access to. Moments before beginning his "wild-goose chase" for the monster that he would later find out was General Zod, he simply would have mocked the work that the "pencil-pushers" and "computer geeks" did, but now they were the only hope he had in finding Jasons.

It wasn't like he could ever afford to doubt their importance in the work that his special division did, they were too good at tracking and, sometimes, executing potential targets by just sitting there behind a monitor and tapping their fingers against a keyboard. His bullying, of sorts, rather, came from a place of bitterness and a lashing out at how quickly the world was changing than a true lack of understanding in how instrumental modern technology was to his work. After all, Lane was an old-fashioned military man, and he would be lying if he said that he did not miss the days of kicking in the door with his men and storming a place, rather than just sending in a drone or stealing important data over the web. He missed the danger. He missed the smell of gunpowder in the air. He missed his search for a good death.

The General's thoughts went back and forth between a worry that Jasons, someone he was responsible for, would be lost and an anger at himself for going to Lex Luthor for help. Lex Luthor, the leech on the heart of Metropolis. The embodiment of everything he no longer understood about the world. All he could do was pray that he would find Jasons before that ginger-haired freak would.

And then he received a call.

"Luthor? You found him?"

"Yes. Courtesy of a Miss Cat Grant. Reporter for the Daily Star."

"One of yours?"

"Yes-You'll never guess where your little green man is."

"Cut to the chase, Luthor."

Luthor sighed through the speaker, "Alright. He's with the other one."

"What?"

"You know what I mean."

"He's-"

"Yes."

"Alright."

"No "thank you"?"

"Goodnight, Mr. Luthor." Sam Lane coldly spoke, hanging up and throwing his mobile phone onto the floor. He stood, looking around at each and every one of his subordinates and marking out who he could trust and who he could not. The latter far outweighed the former. From a hidden safety-compartment under the desk at which he sat, he pulled out a standard issue Beretta M9, his eyes widening at the weapon's deep black sheen in a kind of childish wonder. Quietly, he tucked the firearm into his belt, discreetly slipping away from his brothers-in-arms and onwards to Call Kal HQ.

 **Next: #Showdown**

* * *

 **Stay tuned for more chapters in this series. While you're at it, check out some of the other Wave I DC Redux titles in this bold new universe, which include: Batman: Beyond Gotham by Ivan Krolo, Green Lantern: The Book of Oa by Bodhi Ouellette, The Flash: Incandescent Legacy by James Brady and Green Arrow: KIA by George Jones.**

 **Also be sure to check out some of the NEW Wave II DC Redux titles coming out, such as, Catwoman: Valentina by Bodhi Ouellette, the anthology title, DC Redux Showcase Presents by various authors and Wonder Woman: Young Americans, also by Joey West.**

 **Happy reading, folks!**


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